The Girl in the Ruby Coat
by iamhighfunctioningsochiopathed
Summary: Sherlock is investigating Moriarty's return when he unexpectedly encounters an old "friend" from university. A continuation after the events of Season 3. Sherlock x OC. Copyright iamhighfunctioningsociopath 2014
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters other than my original character are property of Sherlock BBC. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Ch.1

_"Did you miss me?"_

That was enough to awake Sherlock from his slumber. He sat up straight suddenly, his black locks sticking to his forehead with sweat. He was panting like he had just sprinted a marathon.

Those words had haunted his dreams for a week, in the same warped voice that graced every television screen in England last Saturday. He almost wished he had just carried out Mycroft's mission for MI6 instead of returning to the madness that was London.

Alright, that was a lie. He could never leave John and Mary. And Sherlock junior. He was still very intent on having their child named after him, regardless of gender.

It was much too late to go back to sleep. Once his mind woke up, Sherlock couldn't just _will _it to turn off. He looked at his watch. 5:22. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be awake yet to make his tea. He'd just have to make it himself.

Ugh.

_"Oh, look at that, I've fallen asleep fully clothed in my chair again,"_ Sherlock thought, coming to the realization that he had done this for the third night in a row. In, the usual, too: a dress shirt and slacks. His files were scattered around him on the floor too, per usual when he didn't quite manage to make it to his bed at night. He stood up slowly, hearing his spine creak angrily because he didn't treat it properly by sleeping on a mattress last night. Sherlock often felt like his mind and his body were two separate entities, and he could only hope that one could keep up with the other. An unexpected sigh escaped his lips as he stretched.

Right, tea. English Breakfast would do nicely.

He had a few hours until he and John met with Molly in the morgue at 9. _"Down time, lovely."_ He thought as a smirk crept across his face. _"Perhaps I can finish my experiment_…" He sipped his tea and made his way to the refrigerator, out of which he pulled a baggie containing a human scalp. He was extracting the scalp from the bag when his phone began buzzing. _"Ugh."_ Slightly disappointed, he put down the flimsy skin and answered the call.

"John."

"Sherl-,"

"Mary's got morning sickness, doesn't she?"

"…How did you-,."

"You have a pregnant wife and you've never called me this early in the morning before."

"Fine. Yes, she does. She's sick as a dog." John sounded manic on the other line.

"Well, you're the doctor. What do you propose?" he heard a muffled 'Sherlock, this isn't funny!' in the background, then the sound of wretching. He was on speaker. Lovely.

"I was _going_ to propose that we go to the hospital early so that someone can see Mary. She needs something stronger than antacids prescribed."

"Fine. Pick me up." _Click._

…

"I thought you boys weren't coming until 9?" Molly chirped as she led them down the hall. She was wearing a sweater with a kitten on it, and her high ponytail swung back and forth as she pranced through the hospital.

"We weren't. Mary's got terrible morning sickness so I took her to see someone."

"It's a good thing he gave her a bucket for the car."

"Sherlock, please."

"Now, I have to warn you both," Molly turned around and stopped them in their tracks. "This body has been dead for nearly three years. It's been well kept but there's a good amount of decomposition…"

"Yes yes, I'm aware," If Sherlock could handle Mary spewing her dinner from the night before in the car, he could handle another dead body.

"Is it recognizable? I mean does it still _look_ like Moriarty?" John asked, mentally preparing himself.

"…Not exactly," she said. With that, Molly led the two of them into the morgue. The smell of rot hung in the air, since the body was already prepped on the table. Sherlock ignored the stench. John however, could not.

"I think _I'm_ going to have morning sickness," he gagged. Molly handed him a trashcan.

"Remove the sheet," commanded Sherlock. Molly nodded, approached the table, and did as he asked.

The corpse's skin was the shade of soil, and it clung to its skeleton like it had been glued on for a kindergarten project. Its cheeks were sunken, and the lips and eyelids had long since retreated. In fact, so had the eyeballs. There was a nice big hole in the back of the head where the bullet had blown through that day on the roof.

Jim Moriarty dead on the table. As dead as he had been the day Molly had performed his autopsy.

Or not, apparently.

"So," John managed to choke out. "He is dead then, right?"

"Yes of course he's dead, the question is, who is he?" Sherlock snapped at him. He examined the body with care, looking for anything that suggested this was not Jim Moriarty. A scar he hadn't seen before, a tattoo, a birth mark, anything.

"…Well then?" John finally built up the gag reflex resistance to come alongside Sherlock.

"I can't tell. Too much decomposition."

"Well, I mean, if you hadn't faked your death you could have examined him when he died-."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Shall we just do the DNA test then?" Molly asked meekly from the sidelines.

"DNA test? We don't have anything to compare his DNA to," said John.

"Yes we do." Sherlock said, removing an envelope from his inside coat pocket.

"…What is that?"

"Hair I collected from Moriarty's suit the day he came for tea in my flat." He handed the envelope to Molly.

"…You just kept his hair because you knew it would come in handy someday?"

"Naturally. I have a few strands of your hair lying around somewhere as well. Just in case." Having said that, Sherlock turned on his heel and exited the morgue. John looked up at Molly blankly.

"You know, I shouldn't even be surprised by this sort of thing by now."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch.2

Sherlock sat in the lab drumming his fingers against the table like it was a computer keyboard. Waiting. He hated waiting. He was in his usual seat next to his favorite microscope. He didn't really have a particular reason why this one was his favorite, he just used the same one every time he was in here. But he wasn't using it currently. If the results didn't turn up in the next few minutes though, he'd become utterly bored and probably prick his own finger just to look at his platelet count. John had gone to check up on Mary in another wing of St. Bart's, so Sherlock was left to his own devices until Molly returned with the results.

There were only two outcomes to this: either the corpse belonged to Moriarty, or it didn't. Sherlock had already weighed the two possibilities in his mind. If it was Moriarty, then Sherlock had failed to eradicate his network of criminals and someone had stepped up in his place. After all, the video message that aired last week was just a picture of him. It didn't necessarily mean that Jim Moriarty himself was still alive. If the body did not belong to Moriarty, then Sherlock had to seriously recount everything that happened on the roof. Go over every detail to look for a misstep. An error in his mannerisms. Plastic surgery on one of his minions, perhaps? Genetic cloning?

Long story short: If Sherlock Holmes could fake his own death, so could Moriarty. They were the same, after all.

Sherlock heard the door open but he paid no mind. Probably just a lowly techie coming in. He didn't let average people interrupt his thinking, that's why he had his mind palace. So he could escape from them.

"Excuse me, are you supposed to be in here?" A woman's voice from behind addressed him. The voice belonged to whoever just entered the lab.

Everyone in St. Bart's knew who he was, and therefore did not question his unrestricted access in this wing of the hospital. What _moron_ was challenging his presence? Sherlock arose from his seat menacingly.

"I am, in fact, supposed to-," he turned around and stopped. A woman with auburn hair and fiercely green eyes started back at him in shock. "…Norah?"

"Sherlock Holmes, that cannot possibly be you…" The woman called Norah looked at Sherlock as if he was a wax figure in a museum.

'What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

"Since when?"

"Since last week. I'm the new lab technician. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Solving a case."

"Right. Of course. That's like, your thing now. I see it in all of the papers."

They stood in stunned silence for a moment, studying each other. Norah didn't look much older than she did ten years ago. She must have been about 29 now. Her round china doll face held her features in nearly perfect symmetry, (except for one brown freckle in her right iris,) and her long rust-colored locks cascaded from her head like strands of spun sugar. Her complexion was creamy ivory with a few freckles collected around her nose, her full lips like the flesh of a ripe watermelon. Average height. She had a mundane beauty about her, nothing that would stop traffic. But when she smiled, it was like you could feel the warmth of all the stars. Sherlock blinked in disbelief that it was really Norah staring back at him.

Sherlock on the other hand had grown up into himself a bit more than he did at University. His shoulders were broader, frame taller, and his features were more angular. He had long since ditched his habit of combing his hair back and wearing trainers.

"You haven't changed much." He said.

"You have. You're starting to get old." Norah smirked playfully. Sherlock didn't reciprocate. She was joking of course; if he had aged, he had aged quite well. That didn't change the fact that he still couldn't take a joke.

Sherlock looked her over, trying to read her. Relationship status, mood, what she had eaten for breakfast, anything. But he couldn't deduce one single thing. He never could, not with her. She was just like her father in that way, so in tune with deduction that she could close herself to it completely. All he saw around her was little question marks.

John came in right on time, as usual. When he saw the strange woman in front of him in what appeared to be a staring contest with Sherlock, he furrowed his brow.

"Hi, sorry, who's this?" He asked as if he had interrupted something. Norah turned around and smiled.

"Dr. Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm-,"

"Eleanor Sinclair. She's a biochemist. Her father was my Critical Reasoning professor at Cambridge." Sherlock said. The woman shot him a dirty look.

"Just Norah, thanks." She stuck out her hand.

"…Right, nice to meet you." said John, shaking her hand politely. "…Wait you two know each other then?"

"Yeah, we went to University together. Sort of. He was a grad student when I began my undergrad." she gestured to Sherlock, who was still studying her intently.

"Oh…lovely." John could sense the tension in the room, as his eyes shifted between Sherlock and Norah. The awkwardness was overwhelming. "Have any embarrassing stories about him then?" he asked, attempting to make conversation.

"About Sherlock? Not really. It's probably the other way around. The only thing I can think of is the time he switched one Greek letter for another in a very large physics equation that he was working out in my dad's office, and had to start all over again."

"It was 2 in the morning and I was running on no sleep."

"Of course he's defending a mistake he made ten years ago," John muttered.

"I don't blame him, I never let him live it down." Norah said, chuckling.

"…I like her," John said, beaming at Sherlock. Sherlock in turn rolled his eyes.

"Where is Molly with the bloody results?" He sat down in his chair and pretended like he was looking at something under the microscope.

"Do you mean these?" Norah asked, holding up a folder. Sherlock promptly snatched it from her. "I did the test for you. I was coming down to bring this to Molly, but I suppose we can remove the middleman." Without a 'thank you', Sherlock anxiously ripped open the folder and scanned it with eagle's eyes.

"No…no it doesn't make any sense…"

"What doesn't make any sense?" John asked, coming over to look at the test results himself.

"The DNA samples are almost identical but not entirely. I don't understand."

"Well it's obvious isn't it?" said Norah, who had been quietly observing from the side. John and Sherlock both looked up at her, anticipating an answer.

"What's obvious?" asked John.

"The DNA is nearly identical. They're twins."

Twins.

Sherlock looked at Norah with wide eyes. _Of course. _How could he have not seen this before? "That is brilliant!" Sherlock jumped out of his seat, beaming devilishly. "We need to call Lestrade and get any history we can on them. School records. Photos. Everything." He was pacing back and forth.

"Great, brilliant." Said John, happily. "Can I take my wife home first?" Sherlock stopped pacing.

"Right. Mary." He turned on his heels and was about to leave the lab, when he remembered that Norah had been there.

"Norah," he said, turning back around to face her. "…May I buy you a coffee when you get off work?"

John looked at his friend as if his eyes were about to fall right out of their sockets. Did Sherlock Holmes just ask a _woman_ on a _date_?

"Um," choked Norah. "Sure. Yeah. Let's catch up over uh…coffee." Her eyes darted from the floor back to Sherlock as she nervously moved a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Right. Good. I'll…I'll get your phone number from Molly then."

Again, they stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments. Then Sherlock gave a hint of a smile, turned, and left. John scuttled after him. Once he was sure the doors to the lab had completely closed, he spoke up.

"Was I missing something in there?"

"I don't think so, it's solved. Jim Moriarty is two people. Well, was. Identical twins. Brilliant!" He was so excited. The game was very much _on._

"I mean with that woman. Norah."

"Oh, Norah." Sherlock thought for a moment about how much it would be prudent to tell John. "Like she said, we were at Cambridge together. Her father was my favorite professor."

"Sherlock, I have a wife. I know that look."

"What look?"

"THAT look. Did you…were you two…"

"Go fetch Mary, I'll be at the car." Sherlock pivoted and went down an adjacent flight of stairs, leaving John and his questions behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

_Ten Years Prior_

"Uhhhhh…." A sandy haired lad in the back of the lecture hall droned as he stared at the chalkboard with a blank expression. "…Socrates uses a question answer format in his dialogues in order to…make the conversation more interesting?" The boy sheepishly gave his answer and sat back down.

Rolling his eyes, Professor Sinclair turned back to the board. He scratched his mop of gray hair and adjusted his spectacles. "Very funny. Did nobody do the reading last night?" he asked. The class remained silent.

"Just that gentleman in the corner, the girl in the second row and the girl two seats to her left." Sherlock mumbled from his desk in the corner of the lecture hall, pointing to these three individuals without looking up from his busywork. Ugh. First years.

"Ahem!"

Sherlock looked up. "Oh, my mistake. The _gentleman_ two seats to her left. It's the long hair, sorry."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Professor Sinclair muttered, rubbing his temples. As much as he adored Sherlock, he was a pompous git sometimes.

The Sandy haired boy in the back was not amused. "How does the TA know who does the reading and who doesn't?" he whispered to the girl sitting next to him.

"_HE_ didn't do his reading last night," Sherlock was now pointing to the sandy haired boy, "because he and his conversation partner were shagging."

"How did you _know_ that?!" shouted the boy.

"THANK YOU Sherlock, that is quite enough!" Professor Sinclair raised his voice in his TA's direction. The classroom became a chorus of murmurs. The conversations ranged from 'I head he was abducted by aliens' to 'he's bugged the entire university, he can see and hear everything.' In the front row, a girl with her long hair in a ponytail raised her hand. The classroom settled down.

"Yes, Norah?"

Norah stood up. "Socrates used a question answer format in his dialogues in order to engage his partner and force them to think critically. It allowed Socrates to lure his opponent in with leading questions and ensnare them into a debate, but it also gave his opponent the opportunity to use their reason."

"Thank you." The professor winked at Norah and gave a convicting glare to the rest of the class.

Sherlock mumbled "show off" ever so quietly. Not quietly enough, though.

"And _furthermore_," Continued Norah, "at the moment Mr. Holmes has opted to read his organic chemistry textbook rather than grade our midterm papers, most likely because he spent his night with some murder mysteries and his right hand rather than studying." She made an obscene gesture with her hand and sat down.

The class erupted in laughter.

Norah sat and smiled triumphantly, enjoying Sherlock's dropped jaw.

"Class dismissed!" Professor Sinclair shouted. "Except for you two." He said, pointing at Norah and Sherlock. "You two stay."

Once the majority of the class had trickled out of the hall, Professor Sinclair addressed the two remainders. "Inappropriate. Disruptive. Rude. You are my brightest students, yet you embarrass me because you act like imbeciles towards each other. You cannot bicker like this in the middle of my class anymore!"

"She started it."

"Sherlock Holmes you are five years old!"

"ENOUGH!" The professor threw his hands up. "If you two want to get your sexual tension out in the open, you can do that on your own time."

"Our WHAT?" Shouted Norah, horrified.

"You can't honestly think-,"

"One more word out of either of you and I will send you both to the Dean."

They fell silent.

"You're dismissed. But no more bickering. Act like the intelligent adults you are."

"Sorry papa," Norah muttered as she and Sherlock exited the hall.

"Don't get too excited," He said to her some minutes later as they walked across a grassy quad on campus. Unfortunately, they were headed the same direction and could not avoid each other.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, not looking up from her paper.

"If you're under the impression that I am sexually attracted to you in any way-,"

"Please, I'd rather gouge my own eyes out."

"I mean, you're average looking at best, and anyway I consider myself married to my studies."

"I'm sorry, back up." Norah stopped walking, causing Sherlock to turn around and face her. "Average looking at best?"

"It's nothing personal."

"Sherlock Holmes," she snarled, approaching him. "I feel sorry for the woman you end up with some day. If you ever end up with any women." With that, Norah turned on her heel and strutted away. Un-phased, Sherlock continued on his merry way.

…

Sherlock had just finished his after dinner cigarette(s), and he was left with nothing to do for the rest of the evening. The men in his dormitory were participating in some sort of drinking activity. Too boring. Usually, when he found himself in this position, Sherlock would go to Professor Sinclair's office and solve impossible logic questions with him. However after class today, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to bother the professor.

_"Eh, it's not like I'm any less of a know-it-all arsehole any other day" _he thought as her traversed the campus to the humanities building.

"Professor?" Sherlock rapped his fist on Sinclair's office door. The responding voice was not that of the professor's, however.

"Go away."

Sherlock paused for a moment. Norah.

He entered anyway.

The office was a horrid mess. It always was. Professor Sinclair called it 'controlled chaos'. Books and essays were strewn about the spacious office, covering every surface. The walls were lined with old mahogany bookshelves full of literary treasures and various accolades that the professor had received. Norah was crouched in the corner with a book in her hand.

"What part of 'go away' don't you understand?" She spat at him, wiping her nose.

"You've been crying."

She faked a confused expression and rubbed her puffy eyes. "What? No I haven't."

"Yes you have. Why have you been crying?"

"I haven't. Why are you here?" She turned away from him.

"I asked first."

"…This is a sad book."

"You're holding Moby Dick. That book isn't sad, Ahab gets what he deserves." He suspected that she picked up the book and pretended to start reading when she heard someone knock. "Why were you actually crying?"

Norah turned and grimaced at Sherlock. She put the book down and stood up so that she was staring him in the face. "You know, does it ever cross your mind that you hurt peoples' feelings?" Her eyes were welling up again as she said this. Sherlock meant to come back with a smart-arse remark, but he stopped himself. Something was stirring inside of him that made him not want to see Norah cry.

Strange, he'd never felt remorse for making somebody upset before.

"You know I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I don't care about what you said earlier, just tell me, does it ever occur to you that you are a bully?"

"Yes you do."

"Huh?"

"You do care, that's why you're crying."

"Well…yes. It is. There, I've said it. Happy?"

Momentary silence. Sherlock looked down at his shoes uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry."

Norah scoffed.

"Look, I'm fully aware that I am an unpleasant person. I'm sorry that I upset you. Like I said, I didn't mean it. I didn't think it would bother you, since you're so obviously…you know…not average looking."

"…What are you trying to say?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, please don't do this to me. Don't make me say it out loud."

"Say what? I don't understand what you're-,"

"I'm saying you're very beautiful."

Norah gulped. "Oh."

Momentary silence. They were standing awfully close to each other now.

"So, feel free to gouge your eyes out now then."

They both laughed a little. More silence.

"Your pulse is elevated."

"Is it?" Norah turned red and covered her neck with her hands. Sherlock didn't really know what his own body was doing at the moment either. The body entity was trumping the mind entity at the moment.

Just then the professor came in, causing both Sherlock and Norah to stagger backwards suddenly. He shifted his eyes between the two of them. "…You're not bickering again are you?" he asked cautiously. In reality, he was fully aware of the content of their conversation. He could read it on both of their faces like one of his books.

"No sir," said Sherlock. "I actually came to apologize to Norah. I'll be going now." He escaped the office as quickly as he could, leaving Norah flustered and terribly confused.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

On this day, January 12th at 9:18 pm, Norah Sinclair traipsed the streets of London in a long red overcoat, trying not to panic.

At 8:47 pm, She was sitting in her lab watching the clock hand tick to the right at a painfully slow speed.

What seemed like hours later, at 9 pm She jumped out of her seat and ran to drop off her lab coat and scrubs in her locker. She was thankful that she kept a spare powder concealer compact and mascara tube in her purse, to use on the days when her ex's magically re-appeared in her life.

Yes, technically Sherlock was her "ex."

At 9:07 She left St. Bart's headed towards a café on Foster. While she looked put together, her mind was a mess. What were they even going to talk about ten years later? Furthermore, why was she so concerned with things that happened ten years ago? She had been with other people after Sherlock. The biology portion of her brain answered the question for her: _"you become permanently emotionally attached to your first love because of a hormone that is released when you-," _She silenced the thought before it could continue.

She wondered if she still had the ability to block Sherlock from deducing things about her. If not, this was going to be an interesting night.

At 9:25 when she reached the café, "Stella's" as it's gaudy neon sign read, Norah peered in the window. Sure enough, Holmes was sitting in the corner table of the otherwise empty establishment. He seemed to be staring off into space, but Norah knew that wasn't the case. Sherlock was never just zoning out. She could practically see the cogs turning through his thick skull, as he sat in thoughtful silence.

At 9:26 she mustered up enough courage to go inside and sit down.

"You're late," he said very matter-of-fact-ly from the corner. Typical.

"Sorry. I suppose I underestimated the amount of time that it would take to walk here." She turned around to set her bag down, but before she could protest, Sherlock had stood up to remove her coat for her. She mumbled a "thank you" as he set it on her chair.

They sat.

Sherlock pushed a red porcelain cup towards her. Black coffee. "One sugar," he said. He remembered?

Well, of course he did.

"So," he said.

"So…" she said.

Silence.

"…How have you been?"

"…Well, fine I suppose. Still unpacking my flat." Norah said, sipping her lukewarm coffee. She looked down at her lap.

"Why the move all of the sudden?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Job opened up. I needed a change."

"…You needed a change so you moved to London."

"Yep."

They sipped their coffee.

"Wait a second," she said, coming to a sudden realization.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "Hmm?"

"I see what you're doing."

"…What am I doing?"

"You think I have some ulterior motive for moving." Typical. She should have seen this coming. This wasn't a date, it was an interrogation.

"I was just inquiring. You didn't exactly come at the most opportune time for this city."

"Right, your big case with the twins."

"Yes. That. That's why I asked you to coffee."

"…I don't understand."

"This is my way of saying thank you." He struggled to get the words out. He did not say "thank you" often. "You probably singlehandedly just solved my case for me."

"Oh." Norah was taken aback by his profession of gratitude. "It was nothing. You would have figured it out eventually."

"That's true, but you made the process go a little faster." He cracked a smile. "It's uh," he cleared his throat. "It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah, you too," she said, hesitantly.

They sipped their coffee.


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

_Ten Years Prior_

Sherlock was too busy solving a physics problem of his own invention to notice the door the Professor Sinclair's office open.

"Sherlock?"

He turned around to look at who the voice belonged to, and had to actively prevent his jaw from hanging open. It was Norah, wearing a powder pink dress with black polka dots, shoes in hand. Her hair was a mess of curls and her eye makeup with smudged. She looked like "controlled chaos." "Hello," he said as casually as he could before going back to his work.

"It's two in the morning on a Saturday, what are you doing here?" She asked, plopping down in a nearby cushioned chair.

"I could ask you the same question."

"…That's wrong." She pointed to his equation.

Sherlock froze. "…No it isn't."

"It is, look." Rising from the chair, she hopped over the chalkboard which was covered from top to bottom in white scribbles. The equation was terribly long. "This should be Theta, not Sigma, which would change the rate of combustion and ultimately, the rest of your equation."

Sherlock studied the problem spot carefully, trying to find a way to salvage his error, to no avail. He nearly threw the chalk at her. Why did she have to be such a smart arse? He had been working on this for at least three hours. Without a word, he began smudging the equation away with an eraser.

"Sorry…" Norah said. Leaving the line of fire, she limped to her father's desk and propped herself on it.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"As to why _I'm_ here? I just got back to campus. I was out dancing with a few friends."

"Is that why your ankle is sprained?" Sherlock asked, turning to point at her swollen ankle.

"Not exactly." She rolled it back and forth slowly, cringing all the while. "Rich Heathrow walked me back to my dormitory and got a bit too hand-sy for my liking. I did something to it in the process of running from him. That's why I'm here, I'm hiding."

Rich Heathrow. What an insufferable prick. How dare he try to force himself upon a lady. "Did he hurt you?"

Norah smirked slyly. "Sherlock Holmes, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were concerned."

"What if I told you I am genuinely concerned?"

She was not expecting that. Her smile disappeared.

"…I'd tell you that I was fine now."

"What did he do?" Sherlock kneeled on the ground to examine her ankle. It was turning a shade of purple-blue bruise.

"He pushed me against a wall and tried to put his hands up my dress. It's fine, I smacked him upside the head with my shoes. Ouch!" She squeaked, jerking her leg away. "It's okay, I just twisted it."

Sherlock gently lifted her leg and touched her injury. "It's sprained. You should see somebody about it tomorrow." When he lowered her leg back down, they were face to face.

"It should heal in a few w-,"

But he wasn't able to finish his thought. He was cut off by Norah's lips.

Sherlock pulled away momentarily, puzzled. "…Wha-,"

"Sherlock Holmes I swear if you say anything to ruin this right now I will kill you."

Hesitantly, Sherlock returned his lips to hers. Prior to this he had been fairly certain that Norah genuinely disliked him. She was very hard to read, nearly impossible actually.

The kisses were soft and slow, as Norah and Sherlock navigated each other's rhythm. He didn't quite know what he was supposed to do with his hands, but without missing a beat Norah took them and wrapped them around the small of her back for him. She could read his mind and interpret his behavior, yet she was the only person whom he could not do the same to. He pulled away again.

"Your father-,"

"Is in Bristol." Norah leaned back in to continue but Sherlock took a step back.

"I can't betray his trust like this."

"…Oh. I see." She looked at the ground nervously, like a child who had just stolen a cookie before dinner. She hadn't thought of that.

Norah was humiliated. Her face flushed and she avoided Sherlock's eyes at all cost. "I'll just go then…"

Sherlock watched her turn around and head for the door as if it was slow motion. Limping, slouching in defeat, she had almost reached the doorknob when he caught her by her waist and pulled her back into a kiss, a little more urgently than before. Sorry, professor.

Sherlock lifted Norah and sat her back on the desk. Her ankle was sprained, after all. With greater force than he ever expected her to be capable of, she wrapped her legs around him and entwined her hands into his short black curls. Norah had always seemed so sweet and innocent to Sherlock. A spit fire, but an innocent spit fire none the less. He didn't know about _this_ side of her personality. Quite frankly, he was shocked that she was showing this side of herself to him of all people. And it was driving him crazy. (In the good way.)

His mind entity was completely taken over by his body entity at this point.

"Wait," said Sherlock, pulling away again. Norah rolled her eyes and removed her hands from his hair.

"What is it now?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Why me? I'm a arse to you."

"You're an arse to me because you like me." She stated rather confidently. As blunt as the statement was, she was right. Damn her for being so intuitive. "Sherlock, could you do me a favor?" she asked.

"What is it?"

"Could you turn off that big brain of yours for a few minutes and just enjoy this without asking questions?"

"Well, I can't exactly turn my brain off-,"

"Okay shut up, never mind." She went back to kissing him and tugging on his hair. He in turn was beginning to figure out this whole kissing thing. He shifted his hands from her waist to her thighs, but then reconsidered. He wasn't any better than Rich Heathrow if he did that.

"It's okay," Norah breathed quietly between a kiss. How did she know? How did she always know?

He put his hands back on her thighs, which were currently around his torso. Not too far up, though.

"Wait," he pulled away one more time. Norah groaned.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I have to finish this equation first. It's bothering me."

"…Sherlock Holmes, you are unbelievable."

…

"But it was bothering me too so let's just finish it." She laughed, getting up from the desk and limping to the board.

And for the first time, though he would not call it this, Sherlock Holmes fell a little bit in love.


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

"Sherlock…Sherlock…Sherlock!"

"Hm? Yes what is it?"

"…Are you alright? You're don't seem like you're 'all there' today." John got up from his chair to get a closer look at his friend. Sherlock swatted him away.

"I'm fine. Has Lastrade called yet?"

"They haven't found anything on any Moriarty twins yet. No school photos, doctor's records, dental records, nothing." John sat back down.

"Figures. They've probably destroyed them all." He put his chin in his hand and turned back to the window.

"Yeah well, he said they'd keep looking."

"Hm." He continued to stare out the window.

"So how was coffee then?" John asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"What? Coffee?"

"With Norah. Yesterday."

"Ah, yes. Fine."

"…Just fine? That's it?"

"Yep."

"…So are you going to tell me about her?"

"Why?" Sherlock was avoiding John's gaze, pretending to be doing something important on his computer.

"Because I feel like there's something you're not telling me about you and her."

"Look, if you must know," Sherlock said, closing his laptop, "we were romantically involved for a while. A long time ago. There, happy?" he returned to doing nothing on his computer.

"I knew it." John beamed. "For how long?"

"Two years."

"Two years!" He exclaimed. He couldn't believe it. "_You _were with someone for _two years_? Why did you end things?"

"I left school and came to London. She stayed to finish her degree. We broke it off." That was _mostly_ true.

"Oh."

"Yep."

"And you weren't, you know, using her to break into somebody's private office again?"

"Nope."

"…So you actually liked her? You actually liked another human?"

"Don't you have something better to do than interrogate me? Go blog something." He waved his hand sporadically at John.

"I'll take that as a yes. Wow. Are you going to ask her out again?"

"John for the love of God, please, stop talking."

"Why? I'm your best friend, I should know these things."

"It's irrelevant information. It's in the past."

John closed Sherlock's laptop.

"I know you're not actually busy."

"I am too!" Sherlock was becoming very irritated with John's questions. He got up from his desk and walked toward the kitchen, still pretending to do something.

"I honestly thought you were asexual for a while there after Janine."

"I'm not _asexual_, I choose to focus on my work rather than my human desires. I enjoy sex just as much as the next person."

John looked as if his eyeballs were going to come out of their sockets. "SO you two DID sleep together!"

"Yes, quite a bit actually." Sherlock went into the fridge searching for something to do. Ah yes, his scalp. Perfect.

"So what kind of person is she for Sherlock Holmes to actually get himself romantically involved?" This was a belated Christmas for John. He wanted all of the juicy details.

"A person who isn't utterly stupid like the rest of the inhabitants on this planet."

"So she's smart? Is she like you? Does she have a mind palace? Is she-, …Is that a scalp?"

"She's very intelligent. And no, she isn't a sociopath. She's 'normal'." He put the word normal in air quotes, ignoring John's scalp question.

"She's very pretty," John commented.

"Yes, she is attractive." Sherlock, said, matter-of-fact-ly. He began plucking the individual hairs off of the scalp with a pair of tweezers.

"Do you still like her?"

"I'm too busy to like anybody."

"Ask her out again!"

"This case is going to take up all of our time." Sherlock became bored with the scalp and put it back in the fridge.

"Maybe she can help? Now that I'm married."

Sherlock looked up at John suddenly, realizing what he was suggesting.

"…Are you saying you don't want to solve this case with me?" John sensed that he had hurt Sherlock's feelings.

"I do, but I can't devote all of my time to the case. I have a very pregnant wife at home. All I'm saying is that maybe you and Norah can work together when I'm busy with Mary."

"…This is the best case we've ever had."

"I know. But I've got the best woman I've ever had at home, Sherlock."

This was EXACTLY why Sherlock was so opposed to love. It got in the way of everything. But he was very fond of Mary, and he didn't like the idea of her being home alone all the time while he kept John all for himself. Nonetheless, he still felt a bit betrayed.

…

Norah had been a bit distracted in the lab all day. She had already mixed up two lab reports, accidentally sending one to a perfectly healthy man falsely diagnosing him with testicular cancer and scaring him out of his wits. She just couldn't focus. She had been counting the same sample of bacteria for at least an hour now, since she kept miscounting.

On her break, Norah took a look at her phone. Two missed calls from Sherlock. That was very odd. Her heart started racing when she pressed the redial button.

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, did you need something?"

"Uh, no, actually." There was some muttering in the background of the call. "Well, okay, yes. I did. I was wondering if…"

"…If?"

More muttering.

"If you'd like to help me with this case."

"…What exactly does that entail? I don't know if I'm qualified."

"Not a problem, John is hardly qualified and he does just fine."

The muttering in the background sounded a bit angrier this time.

"I don't know Sherlock…" He had John Watson, why did he need her?

"Don't worry, you'll love it. The adrenaline rush is quite invigorating. I can't promise you any pay of course but-, WHAT JOHN?" She drew her ear away from the phone due to Sherlock's sudden outburst.

Some more muttering. Norah was terribly confused. She heard an aggravated sigh on the other line.

"…but I can buy you dinner to show my appreciation."

Oh, _now _she knew where this was going.

"…I suppose I could try to help."

"Splendid. I uh…I will contact you with further details as soon as possible."

"Alright."

"Alright."

"…"

"…"

"…Goodbye, Sherlock."

"Erm, goodbye."

As if she wasn't distracted enough, now Norah DEFINITELY couldn't count bacteria.


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

_Ten Years Prior_

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

They laid together in a tangle of sheets.

"I have a confession to make," Norah said, twirling her hair nervously between her fingers.

"…Yes?" He removed his arms from around her body and laid on his side to face her, propping himself up on an elbow.

"…I'd never done that before…" She looked up at him with big green doe eyes.

Oh God. He wasn't aware that Norah was a virgin. His face contorted into one of disapproval before he could stop it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He was more concerned than upset. Had he hurt her? Did she not enjoy it?

"I didn't want to put you off!"

Sherlock put his hands over his face.

Norah went back to twirling her hair uncomfortably, until she realized something. "Wait a second,"

"What?"

"YOU'VE never done it before either, have you?" She could read it all over his face and body language.

Uh-oh.

"…I didn't want to put you off."

"Sherlock, you prick!" She laughed and hit him with her pillow. He chuckled and pinned her down by her arms underneath him.

"Was it at least any good?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?"

"I mean, a little at first, but it was fine. Great actually. But, how would I know." She shrugged playfully, leaning up to kiss him.

"It's very likely that we are both horrible in bed and don't know it," he whispered, smiling.

"That's alright, we can be horrible in bed together. In fact, I rather enjoy being horrible in bed together."

…

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

They sat across from each other in a booth at a restaurant.

"What was it that you needed to tell me?" Professor Sinclair sipped his merlot and peered across the table at his TA.

"Yes. Right. Well sir,…Norah and I-,"

"Are infatuated with each other. I realize that." He took another sip of his wine and gazed over the menu.

Sherlock gulped, dumbfounded. "…How did you-,"

"How did I know? Son, I knew before you did." The professor sighed and removed his reading glasses. He was acting surprisingly aloof for the magnitude of the situation.

"The first moment I introduced you two, I could practically hear both of your heart rates change. Norah's pupils dilated but yours narrowed. You were studying her extra carefully, but you couldn't read anything from her because she takes after me. Your posture straightened when you came to the conclusion that you could not deduce anything about my daughter, and that peaked your interest. If there's anything you like, it's a good mystery." He took another sip of his wine. "I saw it coming within three seconds."

"I-…I-…" He was speechless. Sherlock Holmes was not often speechless.

"If this is your way of asking for my approval, my answer is yes."

"Uh," Sherlock cleared his throat. "Th-Thank you, sir."

"Just do me one kindness Sherlock. Could you both _not_ come into class the day after you've fornicated with it written all over your faces? It's rather distracting as a father."

Damn. Sherlock thought he was being awfully subtle about that.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"Eh, it's alright. You didn't have to." Professor Sinclair winked at him and went back to looking over the menu. Across the table, Sherlock smiled to himself.

The professor set down his menu. "Now that _that's_ out of the way, I think I'll have the venison."


	8. Chapter 8

Ch. 8

"Sherlock! What a coincidence!"

Sherlock had just arrived at the restaurant where he was supposed to meet Norah, and realized that John had reserved a table for himself and Mary directly next to the one that he had reserved for Sherlock.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock spat.

"I wanted to meet your girlfriend!" Mary chirped. She couldn't sit too closely to the table, since her large stomach was in the way. Sherlock Junior had lots of room in there.

"She isn't my-, ugh." He rolled his eyes and flagged down a waiter, grabbing him by the lapel. "DO you have any other open tables?"

"Uh," the poor young waiter stuttered, realizing who was addressing him. "N-No sir. Say, could I get you to sign my notepad?" He stuck out his pad of paper, but Sherlock swatted him away and he scurried off.

"Norah is going to be here any minute, you have to leave."

"I'm pregnant, you're not really going to make me get up and walk all the way to the car, are you?" Mary bat her eyes at Sherlock. He was not amused. Although, he wasn't sure what he was so worried about.

"Then we'll just have to find somewhere else to eat."

"Why would we need to find somewhere else to eat?"

Sherlock turned around to find none other than Norah standing behind him. She looked ravishing, wearing a taupe-colored chiffon dress with her hair in a messy braid.

"Uh..I uh…"

"Oh, hello John! Is this your wife?" Norah walked past Sherlock and shook hands with Mary, congratulating her on the baby. "I didn't know we were having dinner with you two!"

"We weren't." Sherlock mumbled between clenched teeth.

"Well that's alright." She sat down next to Mary. "We are now."

John and Mary looked up at the distraught Sherlock, who was now the only one still standing. "Care to sit, Holmes?" Norah teased.

He sat. Reluctantly.

…

"Okay," Norah said amid a mouth full of asparagus. "If it wasn't the daughter, who did it?"

"It was-," Sherlock covered John's mouth before he could reveal the answer.

"I know you can figure this out. Think Norah." His eyes were blazing as he stared at her across the table. She stared back, a mischievous grin creeping across her face.

"Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick," Mary said, chuckling. Norah and Sherlock paid no mind, as they were still locked in a staring battle. John and Mary grinned at each other. Match made in heaven.

"…The housekeeper. She would know how to make it look like the daughter murdered him."

Sherlock smiled so big, he was showing his teeth. "Precisely."

"So," said Mary. "You two met at Cambridge?"

"Yes. Sherlock was actually my father's Teacher assistant."

"He raves about your father, you know." John said, pointing at her with his fork.

"Sherlock was his favorite. Sometimes more that me," She said, laughing and cutting herself another bite of chicken.

"That's absurd and you know it." Sherlock said. "He taught me a lot of what I know and he was one of the few people at that god forsaken place that I got along with."

Mary furrowed her brow. "Was? What happened to him if you don't mind me asking?"

Norah swallowed her mouth full of food. "He erm, he was killed in a fire. In a library, of course." She gave a hint of a smile, trying to lift the mood. This was not her favorite subject.

"He was killed trying to get other people out first," Sherlock corrected her.

"I'm sorry," said Mary.

"It's alright." Norah smiled at her. Some awkward silence ensued.

When they had finished dinner, the four of them left the restaurant only to discover that it was pouring rain.

"Can we give you a ride?" John offered Norah.

"That's alright, I live fairly close. I'll walk."

"In the rain? Nonsense, come with us." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm not afraid of a little rain, Holmes." She smiled at him, and put on her red coat. "Thank you for dinner."

"Yes. I'll have you over soon to brief you on the whole case."

Norah nodded, looking at him. Her eyes seemed sad, though he couldn't figure out why.

"Sure. Goodnight."

Sherlock watched her walk away briskly in the downpour.

"Coming?" John asked, opening and umbrella for his wife. Once Norah was out of sight, he turned around and followed them to their car.

"I really like her," said Mary.

Sherlock didn't respond.


	9. Chapter 9

Ch.9

Having arrived home, Sherlock entered 221B and removed his wet coat and hat. He was immediately met by Mrs. Hudson.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked coolly, walking past her. He was not in the mood for another post-date interrogation.

"Sherlock, there's a girl upstairs for you. Might be a client."

He had a feeling that this particular girl was not in fact a client. He thanked Mrs. Hudson and ascended the stairs.

But he didn't have much time to greet the rain-drenched Norah as he entered his flat. She must have changed her mind after walking away and taken a cab. Not soon enough though, since her coat and dress were soaked and her hair was a wet mess. Immediately, she approached him in a hostile manner. "Why didn't you call?"

Call? When? Sherlock hung up his coat and stared her back squarely, furrowing his brow. "I don't understand."

"My father died and I was utterly alone. You just disappeared. You didn't even come to the funeral!" Her eyes began to well up. Norah was fighting back tears as hard as she could, to no avail. They began to fall, mixing with the drops of rain and smeared makeup on her face.

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to her. "Norah, I-,"

"You didn't call to say goodbye, you didn't call to say anything! And now you take me to dinner expecting me to forget all of that?"

She felt pathetic, shivering with her clothes dripping on the floor. She didn't make for a very intimidating adversary.

"If you'd let me explain-,"

"Do you think I'm some sort of idiot? " She was crying harder now. Ten years of pent up anger was flowing out of her mouth and she couldn't stop it.

"You-,"

"And now here we are, and you're pretending like none of that ever happened!"

"ELEANOR!"

She had gone to push him, but he grabbed her hands in his and raised his voice to silence her. She stopped, surprised by his outburst.

Sherlock didn't say anything at first. He simply looked back and forth between her eyes, red and puffy from crying. His glare softened, noticing how hurt she was. Letting go of her hands, he stalked away to his room momentarily, and came back with a sweater and some pajama bottoms. "Put these on before you become hypothermic. Then I'll explain."

She snatched the clothing from his hands and sulked to the bathroom like a sad puppy. Sherlock knew he was in the wrong. He was aware that he didn't understand other's feelings. He certainly never thought that he had hurt Norah's this badly, and he was not proud of it.

A few moments later, she returned from the washroom wearing the borrowed garments. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, and he motioned for her to sit in the chair across from him. Hesitantly, she walked over and lowered herself into the cushions. "Alright," she spat. "Your turn."

Sherlock sighed, and looked her in the eye. "I idolized your father."

"Then why didn't-,"

"Let me finish." He pleaded. He put his face in his hands, brainstorming how he was going to word this. "He was my...hero I suppose, and he died so suddenly."

Norah began to cry again, silently.

"I always though of him as this invincible being, so logical and reasonable. And then the fire took him just like that and I didn't know how to cope. I didn't understand how someone so brilliant could have just been taken so quickly." Sherlock 's voice began to shake. His emotions were getting the better of him. "I was in such shock that I…I shut down. I couldn't function. My mind went ballistic and I thought I was going insane…" He scratched at his scalp like there were insects crawling all over it.

"You didn't have the decency to come see him buried."

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"He loved you, I loved-…" Norah stopped herself, but it was too late. Sherlock's eyes widened, and his mouth hung open.

"What did you just say?"

Norah didn't respond, she just sat in stunned silence.

Those were (almost) words that Sherlock had never imagined he would hear from someone other than his mother, and sometimes she even said it out of obligation.

"I never told you, but I did," Norah said.

Now he really felt ashamed. He didn't feel worthy enough to keep speaking. Norah really wouldn't like what came next.

"Where did you go?" she asked, trying to change the subject from her vulnerable slip-up.

Sherlock didn't know how to tell her, so he took off his jacket and slowly rolled up his sleeve, baring his forearm to her.

Norah gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She met Sherlock's eyes but he looked away, humiliated. Seven years of sobriety (except for that time for Magnussen) couldn't lessen the shame.

"Are those…track marks?"

Sherlock simply nodded.

"…Heroin?"

"Cocaine." He still refused to look at Norah. He was revealing more about his past drug abuse than he had ever chosen to reveal to John, but he felt like he owed it to her.

"Why?" She got up from her seat and kneeled before him, running her fingertips over his scars.

"Because it shut everything off. I didn't have to think anymore. My mind is quiet when I'm high." He rolled up his sleeve, but Norah remained in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

She then rested her head on his knee and sighed. "Sherlock…"

"That's why I didn't come. I couldn't face you or his casket the way I was…"

Now she understood. Sherlock was so obsessed with making her father proud that he wouldn't dare show his face at his funeral after shooting up. It didn't lessen the loneliness from the past, but at least now she had an explanation. "All these years, I thought you had just left and forgotten about me." She half-heartedly chuckled.

"No, I thought about you quite often when I was in a right state of mind actually. I imagined you moving on with your life rather quickly."

"…I'm still angry. You're not totally off the hook, you know."

"I know," he chuckled. After some hesitant hovering, he placed a comforting hand on her head. Her hair was sopping wet and dripping onto his pant leg, but he didn't care.

They stayed like this for a while, Norah sitting at his feet and Sherlock petting her. They didn't say anything. It didn't even bother him that he was showing affection. He still believed that sentiment was a chemical defeat, but he could handle being on the losing side for a few minutes.

"I should uh, I should go," Norah said, standing up suddenly as if snapping out of a trance. "I have to be in the lab tomorrow morning."

Sherlock rose from his chair. "Right. Just bring back my clothes some other time."

"Thanks," she said, going to the bathroom to gather her wet things. When she had all of her clothes, she stood by the door. Sherlock came and opened it for her, and was surprised when she hugged him, tightly.

Sherlock suddenly flashed back ten years, because the feeling of her arms around his neck seemed so familiar. Gingerly, he put his own arms around her waist.

"Call me if you ever want help with the case," Norah said, pulling out of the hug. Sherlock nodded, and watched her descend the stairs. She turned around one more time to look at him, before leaving the flat and flagging down a taxi.

Sherlock didn't really know what to feel. The fact that he was _feeling _at all was strange. In ten years, Norah had not lost her ability to break down his walls.


	10. Chapter 10

Ch.10

Some weeks later, Molly Hooper popped her head into the lab where Norah was injecting some cultures into a petri dish. "Hi Norah!"

"Molly! Good morning." She set down her work and took off her gloves and goggles. "What can I do for you?""

"Oh, Peter wanted you in the Morgue for a second. He left a note on my desk."

"That's odd. That's sort of your department…"

"Yeah, maybe he wants you to take a look at some sort of enzyme break down of something or something." She waved her hands around, laughing.

"…Okay. I'll be right down."

Norah walked past Molly down the hall and down two flights of stairs to the basement, clipboard and files in hand.

When she entered, Peter was nowhere to be found. "Hello?" she called. No answer.

She looked around the room. There weren't any corpses prepped on the tables. This was becoming more odd by the minute.

"Ugh, It's so morbid in here." A voice from behind said. "How do you people work in these conditions?"

Norah turned around, dropped her things, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

…

"Sherlock, I've contacted every school district in London, no history of Moriarty twins-,"

"Arrgggh!" Sherlock was pacing back and forth in Lestrade's office like a madman. These people infuriated him. "You have to go outside of London."

"Sherlock that's not my division. Call your brother."

"I don't _want _to get him involved! You're all a bunch of-,"

"What he MEANS is," John interjected, "perhaps we should shift the focus of the search." John was essentially mediating the situation. Sherlock was about to fling another insult when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He stopped, took it out, and furrowed his brow at the screen. Unknown number.

He had a feeling that he knew who was on the other line.

John looked at his friend with concern. "Sherlock, you alright?" No response.

"Are you going to take that or can we get back to our meeting? Lestrade asked, aggravated.

Sherlock picked up the phone, but didn't say anything.

"Sheeerrrrllyyyyy," A voice on the other line cooed.

Sherlock cringed.

"…Is that-?" John asked. Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlyyy, I've got your girrrlllyyy."

His eyes widened.

"What have you done with her?"

"Oh no," John muttered, beginning to realize the situation. Lestrade sat and watched, still not sure what was going on.

Moriarty giggled on the other line. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking. Death was fun but then I just got so…so bored." He chuckled some more. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I swear," Sherlock said, baring his teeth like a rabid dog. "If you hurt her-,"

"I just got so bored…I wanted to watch you dance again."

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked. He had been around the block with the consultant criminal before. Moriarty's goal was to get Sherlock to play his game. If Norah was in trouble, so be it. He would play. He would play right off a rooftop again if he had to.

"Dance monkey, dance." More laughter. "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…" Moriarty began to sing. "London bridge is falling down…"

Sherlock snapped suddenly. "WHERE IS SHE?"

"Sherly, didn't your mother ever teach you telephone manners?"

Sherlock was growing impatient. Every second wasted was a second that Norah needed his help.

"Besides," said Moriarty, "I've already told you where she is."

_Click._

"What is it? What's happened?" asked Lestrade, who was still in the dark on the situation. But by the time he was finished with his sentence, Sherlock had already put on his coat and was running out of the building, John jogging closely behind.

"What has he done with Norah?"

"I don't know. We need to get to the London bridge." Down the stairs they went, Sherlock's coat flying behind him.

"Okay fastest way is to cut through-, SHERLOCK WHAT ARE YOU-?"

While John was talking, Sherlock had jumped in front of a cab and nearly gotten run over. The cabbie rolled down his window to yell, but Sherlock had already gotten into the car. John ran around and got in on the other side.

"What the hell are you-,"

"If you don't get us to the London Bridge in EXACTLY ten minutes, I will reveal your illegal immigrant status to the government."

The driver was stunned. "How did you-,"

"JUST DRIVE!"

The cab jumped back on to the road and zoomed down the street at a not so legal speed.

"Call Lestrade and tell him to send all of his units to the bridge," Sherlock ordered John.

He took out his phone and began dialing. "Do you think we should call Mycroft as well?" He put the device to his ear.

"No, Moriarty wants publicity. Bringing in the national guard in a helicopter would give him exactly what he wants."

Sure enough, the taxi arrived at the bridge within nine minutes and twenty two seconds. Sherlock jumped out of the car as soon as it had parked, leaving John to pay the driver.

Sherlock ran down to the shore of the Thames, frantically trying to focus on something that would indicate Norah's whereabouts. Again, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Five minutes Sherly. Go._

_ -JM_

Sherlock was growing increasingly frustrated. He could see nothing on the bridge out of the ordinary. Just then, something reflected off of the water and drew his gaze to what was under the bridge.

Pounds and pounds of C4 were strapped with aluminum wire to each foot of the bridge, spanning across the entire width of the river. _London bridge is falling down._ Of course.

He was literally going to bring the bridge down.

This had Moriarty's name written all over it. How fitting to pull a stunt like this as a 'homecoming' display. What Sherlock still couldn't figure out was what Norah had to do with it…

And then he found her.

He saw that she was fastened alongside the C4 to one of the bridge's feet.

Sirens screamed behind him, signaling the arrival of Lestrade and his crew. John had caught up to Sherlock at this point as well.

"John, tell them that they need to get everybody off of the bridge NOW. He has four minutes."

"What is it, what's…" John noticed the explosives. "Oh my god. Where's Norah?"

"No time, just tell Lestrade!" he said. Sherlock began removing his shoes and jacket as John sprinted the other direction. There was no time to locate and defuse each bomb.

He wasn't thinking about the fact that it was February when he jumped into the river, nor that he would probably catch pneumonia after this. His only thought was to get to Norah.

Three minutes to go.

He was never a skilled swimmer, but on this particular occasion he was moving pretty fast. When he reached the bridge's foot, he propelled himself out of the water and onto the ledge, where Norah was bound. She was unconscious.

"What's he doing?" Lestrade asked John His police crew were rushing people out of their cars and off the bridge as he spoke.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph," John said under his breath, locating Sherlock under the bridge with Norah.

Sherlock had managed to get Norah loose from her bonds, and carefully (but hastily) lowered her into his arms. It would take double the amount of time to reach the shore since he now had to drag Norah through the water with him.

Forty five seconds. At this point, the bridge had been evacuated. The only two people in danger were the two people underneath it.

Not wasting any time to come up with a better plan, Sherlock jumped into the freezing river with Norah in his arms. He swam for their lives toward the shore with one arm. He wasn't going to make it. They weren't going to clear the bridge.

BOOM.

"Christ!" John exclaimed, as the bridge began to fall into the water. It created a large wave on either side as it hit the surface. Sherlock and Norah were nowhere in sight.

"I need a search boat to the London Bridge immediately!" Lestrade yelled at his walkie-talkie.

John had run to the edge of the sidewalk to find his friend, but there was no sign of Sherlock or Norah in the water. John feared that they had gone down with the bridge.

Then, he heard some coughing from down below.

Sherlock had dragged Norah onto the dock below, and was now coughing up a substantial amount of water. "Sherlock!" John called from the sidewalk above. "You guys okay?"

"She isn't responding. I need you." Sherlock shouted, crawling over to Norah and taking her into his arms.

John flew down the adjacent stairs and fell to his knees in front of them, putting his fingers to Norah's neck to take her pulse. It was weak and her skin was frozen. "She's alive, but she's hypothermic. Lestrade! Call an ambulance!"

"Already got one!" He waved his arms from the sidewalk, as paramedics came down the steps with a stretcher. Sherlock reluctantly let go of Norah and handed her over to the EMTs. As they were carrying her away, he saw her eyes open slightly.

"Sherlock," she whispered faintly.

"Sir," an EMT stood in his way. "You might need some medical attention as well."

"Very well. I'm going with her anyway." He pushed past her and followed the stretcher, but turned around for a moment to nod a silent 'thank you' to John. He nodded back. "Go home and hug Mary for me," Sherlock called to him as he got into the ambulance.


	11. Chapter 11

Ch. 11

There was a bright light shinning above Norah's face that caused her to squint as she awoke from her rest. She raised a frail arm to shield the light from her face.

"Oh," Mary said, rising to her feet (with some pregnancy-induced difficulty,) and putting down her magazine. "Hold on dear, I'm getting Sherlock." Mary put a comforting hand on Norah's forehead before waddling as fast as she could out of the room.

Norah's eyes began to adjust to the light and she took in her surroundings. Hospital bed. She couldn't very well remember what had put her there. Moments later, Sherlock stalked swiftly into the room and to her side, looking concerned. Mary followed behind.

"Where did he take you from?"

"Hello to you too," She mumbled groggily.

"Sherlock, probably best to interrogate her later," Mary mentioned from the doorway.

"…Right," he said. He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat next to Norah.

"…I'll just give you two a minute then." Mary said, retreating to the waiting room.

"Could you um," Norah said, trying to sit up. Sherlock got up from his seat and helped her up. "Could you remind me what happened to me?"

"Jim Moriarty kidnapped you and strapped you to the bottom of the London bridge before blowing it up."

"…Oh." She gulped. "That's a bit overwhelming now isn't it?" Norah raked her fingers through her still damp hair, then placed her hands back down onto the bed. "Then how am I still here?"

"I swam out to get you."

"…You did?"

"Of course I did."

Now that she was looking at him, his hair was still a bit wet too. "Are those…jeans?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My clothes are drying."

"I have _never _seen you in jeans and a t-shirt," she said, laughing.

"Don't get used to it." He growled.

"…Thank you."

"It's part of my job, you don't have to thank me."

"No it's not. You're required to solve crimes, not save lives." She took his hand in hers, gently. "Thank you."

"…You're welcome."

They shared a moment.

"Okay, I'm starving," she said, matter of fact-ly. "How does a patient obtain sustenance around here?"

"I'll fetch you something from the cafeteria," said Sherlock, rising to his feet. Before he left, he leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Norah's forehead. Lucky for her that he walked out promptly afterwards, since she had turned a rosy shade of red.


	12. Chapter 12

Ch. 12

A few days later, Sherlock took a trip to Norah's flat to check up on her. She received the week off from work, so she was at home by herself. Sherlock felt it necessary to make sure she was safe, since he was the reason she was almost blown up in the first place.

He paid the cab driver and exited the car. He had never been to Norah's flat before. If it was anything like her dormitory at university, it was probably a mess like her father's old office. After ascending two flights of stair, he reached number 309 and rapped his fist on the door. It was seven o'clock in the evening, so there was a good chance that she was home.

Sure enough, Norah answered in a gray Cambridge sweatshirt and some black leggings. Her hair was in an unkempt bun. Controlled chaos.

"Sherlock! Erm, I wasn't expecting you," she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as if that would suddenly fix how not put-together she was. "Wait, how did you know where I live?"

"Homeless network," he said, stepping inside without an invitation.

"…Beg your pardon?"

"Never mind." Sherlock sat down at a small table before him. He was spot on about the mess; unwashed dishes soaked in the sink, papers and file folders were strewn about any available surface, and in her bedroom he could see clothes tossed about on the floor. Still, the flat was quaint and charming. Just right for Norah.

She took a seat across from him. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to make sure you were alright." He removed his coat and draped it over the back of his chair.

Norah smiled to herself. "I'm a big girl, Mr. Holmes."

"Considering recent events, I felt it necessary."

"Well, if you insist that you must babysit me, can I at least interest you in some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

She got up to put the kettle on the stove. Sherlock couldn't help noticing how good her backside looked in those leggings…

"_Snap out of it." _He thought. He was not normally very conscientious about beauty, let alone women's buttocks.

"So," she said, turning away from the stove to face him. "Why are you _actually _here?"

"…I'm not sure what you mean." That was a lie. He did in fact know what she meant. Norah's exquisite intuition never failed.

"If you simply wanted to check up on me, you would have called. Why'd you trouble yourself with the trip?"

Sherlock tussled his hair nervously. "How do you do that?" He asked, smiling but squinting his eyes.

"Do what?"

"You see through me as if I was a piece of tissue paper." As vulnerable as that made him sound, he wasn't stating this for his own defense. It was purely conversational.

Norah smirked. "Now you must know how it feels for us regular people."

"Norah Sinclair, you are anything but regular. Don't make me laugh." He threw a large, crooked grin in her direction.

It hit her like little arrows straight into her chest.

"Besides, you _wouldn't _know how it feels. I can never deduce a single thing about you." He made this fact known to her when they were together in college, but he figured he'd reiterate it for old times sake.

"Still?" She asked.

"Still."

They just grinned at each other. The sexual tension in the room was so thick, one could probably have cut it with a butter knife.

"You haven't answered my question," she said, changing the subject. "Why'd you come over?"

Sherlock's smile diminished, until it had faded back to his usual scowl.

"I don't think we should associate with one another anymore," he stated, flatly.

She blinked a few times, puzzled. "What?"

"I'm a bit of a health hazard, if you haven't noticed." He stood up and took a few steps toward her. "I tried breaking this news to John once, but I have since learned that faking one's suicide is not very effective way of getting people to stay away from you. I figured I'd just try telling you to your face this time."

Norah remained silent, with her arms folded, staring at the floor. She was just listening. Sherlock continued.

"Moriarty only ever just wants to piss me off, and, with you, he has found an exciting new way to do just that." Sherlock looked at her sincerely. "So, if I stay away from you, you're safe. Because I-…" He struggled to get the words out. "…I care for you too much to put my own desires before your safety."

He expected her to cry, or yell at him, or fight him like she usually did. But no, Norah did something unexpected. She laughed.

"What is it, what's so funny?"

Norah clutched her stomach and continued to laugh. Confused and somewhat insulted, Sherlock grimaced back at her. When she had finished, she wiped her eyes and heaved a sigh.

"It's hilarious to me how smart you _think_ you are."

"Elaborate." Sherlock was angry now. He had just professed something deeply personal to her, and she laughed in his face. This was precisely why he hated caring.

"You seem to think that this ultimatum is a one way decision. I get a say in this too," she said snarkily.

"Alright, have it your way. Would you kindly keep yourself safe and abstain from my presence?"

"No."

"You are _maddening._" He snarled. He was doing this for her own good, didn't she realize that? The angrier Sherlock grew, the more pleased Norah became.

"You asked me to help with the case, remember? I'm still in."

"Fine!"

"Fine."

The tea kettle began to scream from behind, so Norah turned to shut off the stove. She did not turn back around on her own accord, however.

Sherlock had spun her back around and smashed his lips onto hers.


	13. Chapter 13

Ch. 13

(Warning: This is a nudie chapter.)

Norah reciprocated the sudden kiss, pressing her body against Sherlock's and thrusting her hands into his locks. He lifted her up on to the counter, and began to ravenously kiss and nip at her neck. She sighed with satisfaction, still gripping his hair. Without warning, she leaned down and bit his earlobe.

That did it. She had unleashed the dragon.

With great urgency, Sherlock practically ripped her sweatshirt off of her. Cream-colored lace awaited him, as he moved his mouth downwards to Norah's chest. She tossed her head back, a small squeal escaping her lips. Oh, she had missed him. She gently pulled his hair upwards so that their mouths were again connected.

Norah felt, smelled, and tasted so familiar to him. It was like ten years had never even passed. Releasing his curls from her clutches, she began furiously un-buttoning Sherlock's purple dress shirt. When it was free, he flung it from his body onto the ground.

Sherlock could not comprehend how _he_ was the man kissing and caressing this intelligent, intrepid, beautiful woman. People always thought he was so vile, but she didn't. And that was worth everything.

Norah on the other hand, was fully enjoying the gloriously familiar feeling of being intimate with Sherlock Holmes. He was so guarded, so jaded, and she had always felt honored that he allowed her to see him vulnerable. Being able to share this with him again was thrilling.

She pushed herself off of the counter top, breaking the kisses only for a split second. She made sure to kiss every angle of his face, from his jutting check bones to his angular jawline. Sherlock then went for her buttocks, so perfectly rounded in the black leggings. Norah ripped her hair elastic out and shook out her bun, which only further heightened Sherlock's "interest". Briefly, Norah pulled a few inches away from him. She trailed her eyes downward, raising an eyebrow. His "interest" was peaked alright.

"Don't you dare move," she growled, strutting into her room for a moment. This small hiatus caused Sherlock to realize that he didn't have any protection on him. He wasn't accustomed to carrying condoms around with him regularly, since he wasn't accustomed to having sex regularly. He cursed under his breath.

"Ahem."

He looked up to find Norah leaning in the doorway of her bedroom, bra-less, with a wrapped condom between two fingers. Sherlock shook his head. "I'm beginning to think that you're telepathic."

"High-functioning telepath, thanks very much." She winked.

Her teasing drove him wild.

"Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?"

He wasted no time coming into her bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

Sherlock climbed on top of her gently. She had just been released from the hospital, after all. But Norah didn't seem to remember that, as she grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer.

Sherlock took one last precaution. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded, rather vigorously.

With that, he rose to his knees to undo his belt, but Norah was one step ahead of him. She kissed his abdomen as she removed the belt and undid this pants for him. All he had to do was slide her leggings off.

Norah's nails dug into Sherlock's back as he entered her. She kissed him, swallowing his would-be moan. He worked at a slow pace at first, savoring the way he made each one of her nerve endings sizzle. That was always his favorite part about making love to Norah; observing. He was captivated by her every movement, facial expression, and sound. She was like a living work of art beneath him. Now that they were both a bit more experienced, his curiosity with her was magnified tenfold.

As Sherlock accelerated into a faster tempo, Norah could feel herself coming undone beneath him. He kissed the nape of her neck, her sweet spot. He didn't know about it of course, since he couldn't figure her out. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a groan. Norah wasn't about to give in to him this easily.

In one fluid motion, Sherlock suddenly found himself beneath her. He actually chuckled devilishly, out loud, and gripped either one of her hips to guide her. He'd let her win, this time.

Their conclusion was a raucous one, as they always had been in the past. Sherlock and Norah were both very capable of being quite…loud. She howled his name one final time, before collapsing on top of him, still shaking. Panting heavily, Sherlock wrapped one arm around her and stroked her hair with the other. It took the both of them a few minutes to recover.

"Imagine if I'd have just agreed to stay away from you," were her first words to him.


	14. Chapter 14

Ch. 14

When Sherlock arrived home the next morning, John was already waiting form him in his flat. He tried as hard as he possibly could to act like his usual self; detached and apathetic.

"Where were you? You told me to meet you here an hour ago. I called."

"No food in the fridge. Went out to eat." He took of his coat and sat at his desk. Just a normal day of crime solving.

"A woman named Samantha McCullough called me, she said that she tried to get a hold of you last night but you didn't answer."

"So?"

"_So_, she says that she went to school with who we know as Moriarty."

Sherlock's eyes shot up from his laptop. Finally, a lead. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I told you, I called!"

"What is all the fuss about?" Mrs. Hudson asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"Call her back, get her address. We're going to pay her a visit." Just as quickly as he took it off, he put his coat back on and reached for his scarf.

"Sherlock, why didn't you come home last night? I was worried about you dear."

Bollox.

"Wait, you said that you just left this morning?" John said, puzzled.

Sherlock was trapped, so he tried to change the subject. "The address, John!"

"Yes, yes, I got it already." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "But I'm not telling you where it is until you tell us where you were last night."

Sherlock looked between Ms. Hudson and John a few times. He lunged for the paper, but John snatched it away.

"I slept over at Norah's!" He exclaimed.

Johns jaw dropped so low it practically hit the floor, and Sherlock seized the opportunity of his friend's shock to grab the paper from his hand. He unfolded it and continued on as if he hadn't just revealed that bit of information.

"WHAT?!"

"A girl? That's quite odd, I thought you didn't like girls," Mrs. Hudson commented. John shot her a brooding glare, but then snapped out of it.

"How did that even happen?!" He shouted. John wasn't sure whether he was thrilled or mortified. Probably a combination of the two.

Sherlock ignored the both of them, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

_Norah, if you still want to help with this case, get dressed. The game is on._

_ -SH_

"Well c'mon Sherlock, tell me about her!" Mrs. Hudson said, beaming and clasping her hands together.

"John, you brought your car, yes?"

"Uh, well, yes. But-,"

_Buzz._ Sherlock looked at his phone again.

_Wow, very romantic morning-after text Holmes. Where are we going?"_

_ -NS_

"Well, grab your keys." Sherlock said, throwing on his scarf and walking past Mrs. Hudson.

…

Sherlock and John conversed minimally on the drive to Norah's place.

"Did you," John said, his voice cracking. "Did you two…"

"No, we stayed up all night braiding each others hair. What do you think?"

"I mean I was just inquiring…So…How was it?"

"For God's sake John-,"

"Excuse me for being happy for you!"

They pulled up along the street where Norah was waiting outside in her red coat. She waved to John before hopping in the back seat. "I still don't know where we're going," she said, buckling herself in.

"Dublin," replied Sherlock, without turning to face her.

"As in Dublin, Ireland?"

"Yes. Hope you've got the whole day free," said John, apologetically.

"I do. Thanks for asking beforehand, Sherlock."

"I didn't think it mattered."

John looked over at Sherlock. "Before I get back on the road, you sure you uh…don't want to hop in the back seat rather than stay up here?"

"What? Why would I need to-,"

"Oh my God, you told him didn't you." Norah said, covering her face with her hands.

"No, no he didn't tell me anything, I just figured-,"

"Just drive, John!" Sherlock commanded, scowling at his friend.

"Yep, right, ok." John swiftly turned back onto the road.


	15. Chapter 15

Ch. 15

After an awkward six hour drive, a ferry ride, and another 30 minute car ride, they arrived at the small cottage of Samantha McCullough. She was expecting them, since she answered the door promptly after Sherlock had knocked.

"Come in, please." She was a short red-haired woman with a nervousness about her. Her beady eyes shifted about every few seconds.

They all sat in her cramped living room, on chairs that were covered in animal hair and smelled of urine. A few cats could be seen lounging around the space, and Sherlock judged that by the amount of hair, there were probably a few more upstairs.

"I saw the listing for the LPD on the internet. I didn't call the police though, since I wanted to remain totally anonymous. I hope you understand." she said. She sat down across from them, and placed an old yearbook across the coffee table before Sherlock. She then sank back in her chair, wringing her hands.

Sherlock took the book and began flipping through it in the "M" section.

"Oh, he's in B for Brook. Richard Brook," she said.

John and Sherlock both looked at each other forebodingly. Richard Brook was the name of the "fake" actor persona that Moriarty had adopted when he was trying to destroy Sherlock's credibility.

"Richard Brook was real?" John asked, unable to believe his ears. Sherlock flipped furiously through the yearbook. Sure enough, a young man resembling Moriarty stared back at him in a school picture. The name underneath read "Richard Brook".

Norah sat next to him, quietly observing. Sherlock and John familiarized her with the entire Moriarty predicament on the way over, so even she was shocked.

"He always seemed a bit funny in school," Ms. McCullough said. "He was always making trouble for the professors and talking to himself."

Sherlock flipped to the index, which told him every page that Richard Brook was on. He flipped back some, and found him in a drama club photo.

"Good actor though. He was always the lead in the plays," continued Ms. McCullough. "Actually, he was on that tv show a few years back."

"Emergency? BBC1?" Sherlock inquired.

"Yeah, that one."

He didn't understand. He thought that Moriarty had made all of that up. There was supposedly an extensive police investigation on a Richard Brook, but not extensive enough it seemed. Sherlock had been wrong all along; Richard Brook wasn't the alter ego, Jim Moriarty was. That's why he had been so angry on the roof when Sherlock threatened to 'kill Richard Brook and bring back Moriarty'. That's why there were no records of 'Moriarty' anywhere. It all made sense now.

"What about his twin brother?" Norah asked.

"…Sorry, brother? He didn't have a twin as far as I knew."

"Perhaps he went to a different school," said John.

"Well have to do a bit of research on that. May I keep this?" Sherlock asked, holding up the yearbook. Ms. McCullough nodded.

Sherlock got up, and headed for the door, though they had only been there a few minutes. He had everything he needed.

"Thank you for all your help," John said to the woman before going after his friend. Norah smiled as she passed her as well.

"How could I have been so _stupid_?" Sherlock screeched as he got into the car.

"How were you supposed to know?" John said, trying to calm him down. "I'm starving, let's grab a bite before heading home.

"No time," Sherlock said. "I have to get back to Baker street and sort this out before Richard Brook does any more damage."

"I vote for eating. You're overruled," Norah said, tugging at his coat from the back seat. Sherlock scowled.

…

The three of them didn't make it back to Baker street until one in the morning. Norah came in first, trudging up the stairs to discover a very ostritch-y man with an umbrella in Sherlock's flat. He looked at her with an expression of confusion. "You're not John," he said.

"Afraid not," responded Norah, remaining at a safe proximity from the strange man.

"Mycroft! Get out." Sherlock had just come up the stairs behind Norah, John trailing behind him.

"Hello to you too, little brother."

"Brother? _This_ is your brother?"

"Norah, Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft, Norah Sinclair." John introduced the two of them since Sherlock didn't have the decency to.

"A pleasure," the man said, bowing slightly. Norah nodded back. Sherlock never told her he had a brother.

"What do you want?" asked Sherlock, carrying about his business as if Mycroft wasn't even there.

"Yeah, isn't it a bit late to be visiting?" John joined.

Mycroft made himself comfortable in Sherlock's favorite chair. "I came to discuss the recent terrorist attack involving Jim Moriarty."

"What's there to discuss?"

"Well Sherlock, he has now made himself a national threat. I'm the one in charge of eliminating those."

'You mean enlisting me to do it for you?"

"No!" Mycroft huffed and puffed. "I need all of your intelligence on him."

"Nope. My case."

"Sherlock don't make me throw you in prison," he said. Sherlock laughed at this.

"You had your chance to do that and you didn't."

"Sorry, what?" Norah whispered to John.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, recalling a rather drastic ending to his and Sherlock's last case.

"Hand it over, brother dear. Paper copy or digital copy will do just fine."

"I don't have any intelligence on Jim Moriarty," said Sherlock.

"…What do you mean?"

"Jim Moriarty doesn't exist. He's a ghost."

Mycroft's face became red with fury. "So we ALL thought after he shot himself, but as you can see, he is apparently _somebody!_"

"Sorry, can't help you," Sherlock said with no hint of a genuine apology. He then sat down at his desk and to ignored Mycroft.

Mycroft swiveled his head to Norah. "I'm sorry for you. How hard it must be to be his girlfriend."

"What? I'm not his-,"

"She's not my-,"

"It's fine. I don't need gruesome details. I'll be back with a warrant to obtain your case files."

"Good luck with that." Sherlock waved goodbye to him sarcastically as Mycroft left.

"That's probably my cue to leave as well," John said, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Mary will have a cow if I don't come home tonight."

"Yes, fine, be back tomorrow whenever you see fit."

"Okay. Would you like a ride home Norah?"

"That would be lov-,"

"I need her here to help me research Richard Brook," Sherlock interrupted. Norah didn't protest.

"…Okay then. Goodnight." John walked out awkwardly, not wanting to know what sort of research they were going to be doing.

Sherlock sat at his laptop looking stoic as usual, silent. Norah was still standing where John had left her.

"We'll start by finding information on Richard, then once we've done that we can search for the twin broth-…what are you doing?"

Norah had come up behind his chair and begun sliding his jacket off. "What does it look like I'm doing?" She smirked.

"I'm very busy. We're very busy."

"Uh-huh." She came around in front of Sherlock, straddled him, and began to unbutton his dress shirt. "This doesn't have to take long."

Sherlock tried to find the will to resist, but could not. "God you're a vixen," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

"Mhm. That's what I thought." She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. He could take a half an hour break, right?

Sherlock stood up, and holding Norah in front of him carried her to his bedroom, closing the door behind them.


	16. Chapter 16

Ch. 16

"Ah, John. Good timing. Come in."

"…Sherlock why are you wearing a sheet?" John asked. His friend was parading around his flat clad only in a white sheet. He had flashbacks of Buckingham Palace.

Sherlock didn't answer his question, but instead grabbed a mug of tea from the kitchen and retreated to his bedroom. "…Well come in John!"

"Oh God." Apprehensively, John crept into the bedroom. Sure enough, Sherlock was lounging in bed next to Norah, who was wearing his purple dress shirt. He handed her the tea.

"John! Erm…" Norah covered herself with blankets. "Did you uh…did you want some tea?"

John just stood in the doorway, blinking.

"…Something wrong?" Sherlock asked. He slapped the bedside, indicating for John to come sit down.

"No, no, I'll just grab a chair," John insisted. He went back into the living room to fetch said chair, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously.

"What's the matter with him?" Sherlock whispered to Norah.

"Well, we're laying in bed together barely clothed. How would you feel if you came in and we were John and Mary?" She got up and slipped her jeans on, then joined him again.

"Don't be absurd. I don't get uncomfortable."

"Who's uncomfortable? No, nobody's uncomfortable here. Nope." John had come back in with the desk chair. "Wait a second, that's…"

John pointed to the lap top screen in front of them on the bed, where Richard Brook stared back at him in a lab coat.

"This is his tv show," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "It's not entertaining in the slightest, the plot is so predictable."

"What about the twin?" asked John.

"The show credits only list a Richard Brook. We called all of the school districts in Dublin and none of them had another Brook student," Norah said, defeated. It didn't make any sense.

"That's odd…maybe homeschool? Boarding school?" John suggested.

"Wrong." Sherlock pointed at John. "They both would have been homeschooled or in boarding school together. It's something else…something I'm missing."

Norah scratched her head. "I'm starting to think that I was wrong about the twin."

"No, you couldn't have been. There is no other explanation." Sherlock put his fingertips together and held them to his chin as he often did when he was thinking.

Sherlock finally clothed himself and they sat exchanging theories for a while in the kitchen. Nothing really added up. Sherlock became very frustrated with himself that he wasn't finding the missing piece to the puzzle. Something was staring him right in the face and he couldn't see it.

"This is going to drive us all mental," said John.

Norah's face lit up. She stood up and pointed at John. "Say that again."

"…I said this is going to drive us mental?"

Sherlock looked from John to Norah. Something was stirring in her brilliant little brain. She dashed to his laptop and began typing furiously.

"What are you-,"

"Shhh!" She hushed him and continued typing and clicking. Sherlock and John watched from the kitchen, waiting for what she would turn up.

Norah then picked up her cell phone, dialed a number, and walked towards the bedroom. "Hello, this is detective inspector Sally Donovan of the London PD…" She said. That was all they heard before she closed the door behind her.

"What on earth is she up to?" John asked. Sherlock had already gone to the computer to look at what she had been searching. A website for St. Patrick's mental hospital in Dublin was on the screen.

Sherlock chuckled. "Clever girl."

Just then, Norah emerged from the bedroom, grinning devilishly. "I saw detective Donovan's name on one of your papers on your desk. Turns out twenty one years ago, a patient named _James_ Brook was admitted to St. Patrick's for an extended amount of time."

"Yes!" John shouted, jumping up in the air.

Sherlock jumped up and ran to embrace Norah, and John's glee was suddenly crushed by the sight of their lip-locking. He did not take well to P.D.A.

"Grab your coat, John," Sherlock instructed after pulling away from the kiss. "We're making a second trip to Dublin."

"Uh, actually, no can do."

"What? Why?!"

"Mary has an ultrasound today at four!"

"Arrgh!" Sherlock threw his arms in the air. "This is a good excuse to miss an ultrasound."

"No! Nothing is a good excuse to miss your wife's ultrasound!"

"Thank you, Norah. See, she understands."

"Fine. But you'll be missing a highly dangerous adventure." He raised an eyebrow at John.

"Not gonna work on me this time Sherlock, nice try."

"Damn…"

"Norah is a perfectly sufficient assistant, I'm sure." John gestured to her.

"Yeah Holmes, you don't think I can do it?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighed.


	17. Chapter 17

Ch.17

Once again, Sherlock and Norah made the trek to Dublin, sans John. The journey there was filled with existential talks, bickering, and a good amount of stolen glances from both parties. Sherlock contemplated what exactly the two of them were getting themselves into. There was a difference between a silly college fling and an adult…erm…romantic collaboration. Besides, his number one priority was his work, not women.

But then there was the fact that Norah wasn't an average woman. She was smart, she could handle his jackassery, and he supposed it was a bonus that she was aesthetically pleasing. His one fatal flaw was that he cared for her. Deeply. Even worse, he didn't mind so much.

It was different with John and Mary; he cared for them as well. He would even go so far as to say that he loved them, but not romantically like Norah. She had every power to break his…

…to prove to him why it was a disadvantage to feel.

Norah thought about this as well, probably even more often. She knew Sherlock better than everyone, even John. He had confided in her in the past, before his walls grew more fortified. Not to mention she could figure out the things that he didn't tell her anyway. She knew how he functioned, why he functioned that way, and many of his insecurities.

Therefore, she knew that he didn't need her. She knew that he was never going to settle down, he'd never be the sort of man to take her out on dates regularly, and she was fairly certain he would never get married. She'd been around the block with him before.

But it was ok. Sherlock showed his affection in other ways. Like the way he smiled at her when she figured something out, or how silently frustrated he got when he couldn't deduce anything about her, or how intently he watched her when she was thinking.

In other words, she wasn't expecting a ring, or roses on valentines day; All she wanted was him. Unpasteurized, raw, grade A Sherlock. Just the way he was.

Neither of them would ever mention any of this to the other.

Dusk crawled over the sky when the pair finally arrived in Dublin. The mental hospital was quiet upon arrival. The grounds were nice, and a few patients and nurses were wandering about as one might expect. The pair entered casually and approached the front desk.

"Good evening," Sherlock said, a bit more cheerily than usual. "I'm detective inspector Lestrade with the London PD," He quickly flashed a badge that he had picked out of Anderson's pants once, "and I'm here to collect your files on a particular patient. My partner Sally Donovan called earlier."

The woman sitting before them was around sixty years old, overweight, had a permanent frown. She peered up at them suspiciously. "Where's your warrant?"

"Uh, we don't have one presently. We thought that this would be enough to get us what we need." He whipped out the badge again.

"Sorry son, no can do without a warrant. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Her accent was as thick as Irish cream.

"I'll escort them out," a nurse from behind them offered. She was a short brunette woman with pretty plump hands.

"On you go," the lady at the desk urged after they didn't move for a few seconds. Sherlock scowled at her, and began following the nurse.

"No problem, we'll go around back," Sherlock whispered to Norah as they walked out. She cracked a smile. Holmes was always getting into mischief.

Once they were out of earshot, the nurse they were following turned around to face them. "I know who you are. I've seen you in the newspaper."

"Yes yes, you and the rest of the United Kingdom."

Norah hit him on the shoulder.

"I took her call." The nurse pointed to Norah. "You're inquiring about James, right?"

"Yes, can you get us access to his records?" Norah pleaded.

The nurse shook her head. "All of his files were stolen years ago, but I can do better."

"You were his nurse…" Sherlock suddenly inferred. She was on a first name basis, flinched at the mention of his name, and willing to help in the investigation against him.

"Yes." She said, shuddering. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Barbara, as they later found out was her name, left work early and brought Sherlock and Norah to a small café down the road.

"He was very disturbed. And that's saying something when you work at a mental hospital," she said. She stirred her after dinner coffee. Counter clockwise, Sherlock noted, indicating that she was tapping into her memories.

"Why was he admitted in the first place?" he asked.

Barbara looked up at him. "He must've destroyed those records too." She shuddered. "He killed both of his parents at thirteen. Just stabbed them to death one night and never gave any reason for it. He was written off as mentally ill and sent to me. Diagnosed as a psychopath with severe sadomasochism."

"That explains a lot," mumbled Norah.

"He was mostly quiet. He didn't speak a word in his therapy sessions, but he took to self-harm. He would prick his fingers and write awful messages on the wall of his cell in his own blood."

"Such as?" Sherlock asked.

The nurse shook her head. "I don't even want to say."

"Write it down then," Norah said, pulling a pen and a pad of paper from her satchel. Barbara took it, and hesitantly scribbled something down.

_I WILL BURN ALL OF YOU_

"He would torture the other patients too, the ones that weren't able to stand up for themselves or do anything about it. It was never proven, but I'm certain he convinced one of our schizophrenic patients to jump out of a window,"

"He seems to get a kick out of having people jump from great heights," Sherlock remarked. Norah hit him again.

"The problem was that he was smart, and very persuasive. He fooled me a few times."

"What about his brother?" Norah inquired.

"Sometimes he came to visit. He seemed odd as well, but he went to school like a normal little boy I guess."

Sherlock had one final question. "Why was he released?"

"He should not have been released. Ever." She said, gulping. Her fingertips drummed against the table. "He somehow convinced or bribed the board in charge of assessing patient's progress and stability to let him out. That was almost ten years ago."

"Thank you," Norah said, giving a hint of a smile and reaching for her purse.

"I'd appreciate it," Barbara continued, "if you didn't use my name in anything official."

"Of course." Sherlock gave a nod and got up to leave. He had just about everything he needed. He just didn't know what to do with it as of yet.

"It's late," said Norah, exiting the café. It was dark and a few stars were hanging dimly in the sky. "We won't be home until the morning. We should just crash here and go home tomorrow."

"…Crash?"

"Yeah, get a room at an inn or a hotel or something."

Sherlock looked at her mischievously. "Do you have an ulterior motive?" Norah hit him.

"Turn your detective off for me, would you?" she began typing away on her cellphone.

"I told you, I can't just turn it off."

"There's a bed and breakfast a few miles down the road." She lifted her phone up to show him.

"So we'll be getting one room then?"

"I mean, that's the most cost effective option, don't you think?" She said, grinning.


	18. Chapter 18

Ch. 18

The B&B was run out of a picturesque cottage, and lucky for Sherlock and Norah, there was one vacancy. The innkeeper led them upstairs to a room covered in pink floral wallpaper with ornate floral furniture. Sherlock nearly gagged, but remained silent. Thanking the innkeeper, Norah shut the door behind them.

"This is ghastly."

"It is not! It's cute!" Norah paced around the space, going into the bathroom. Sure enough, more floral wallpaper and a floral shower curtain. "Okay," she admitted. "It's a bit much."

Sherlock took off his coat and scarf and hung them up neatly. He then sat down in a cushioned chair by the window. "Do you have any overnight things?"

"They have shampoo and soap and toothpaste. We'll manage."

"Pajamas?"

Norah scoffed. "What makes you think we're going to need those?" She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up off the chair. They were about to kiss when Sherlock's phone buzzed. He grunted.

"What?"

"…Sorry, are you in the middle of something?" John asked from the other line.

"No, we're just…" Sherlock stopped, noticing Norah's hand tracing down to his pants and undoing his belt.

"…You're just…"

"We're staying in Dublin for the night." Sherlock said tersely. Norah started unbuttoning his shirt.

"OH you are?" John quipped. "Well, have fun with _that_." Sherlock could practically see Johns snickering face right about now.

"How was the ultrasound?" Norah asked, suddenly sticking her face into the speaker.

"Hi Norah! It was great, baby looks healthy. Definitely a girl. Three months to go."

"Excellent! Any names?"

"We have a few ideas. We're _not_ naming her Sherlock."

"You're loss." Sherlock remarked. Norah hit his shoulder, then preceded to take off her coat and shirt, throwing them onto the chair. Black lace this time. Sherlock gulped.

"So, what did you two find out?"

"We met with his nurse and got a bit of insight." Sherlock managed to say breathlessly as Norah began kissing his neck.

"Brilliant. Oh, Mary wants to say hi."

"I'm a bit occupied right now-,"

"Hi Sherlock!" Mary's cheerful voice replaced John's on the other line.

"Yes hello Mary I'm going to have to call you both back," Sherlock said, hanging up the phone and throwing it on the ground. He embraced Norah and pressed his lips to hers, feeling her smile as they kissed. She pushed him backwards onto the bed.

_Squuueeeaaaak._

"…You have got to be kidding me," he said. Sherlock sat up and jumped a few times on the mattress.

_Squeak squeak squeak._

"Bloody hell!" Norah shouted, flopping down next to him.

_Squeak._

They both looked over at each other and burst into laughter.

"What kind of a bed and breakfast _is _this?" Sherlock remarked.

"Well, there's always the chair?" Norah said. They both sat up and looked at the putrid flowery chair.

"Nope." They said in unison.

"In _that_ case, I'm going to take a shower." Sherlock watched Norah get up and go into the bathroom. She closed the door and he heard her turn on the water. Heaving a sigh, he stared up at the ceiling. He should probably shower himself too…

Oh.

Norah was startled when Sherlock climbed into the running shower behind her. Instinctively, she covered herself.

"Since you're so conscious about being cost effective, I figured we would use less water this way." He smirked.


	19. A Brief Introduction

HI THERE! I just thought I'd drop in and say hello. I'm Shiloh, I'm 19 years old, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm really into writing, and Sherlock. More chapters are on their way, but in the mean time if any of you are on tumblr, hit me up! I just joined since I felt pretty out of the Sherlockian loop without one, and I have no idea what I'm doing.

If you like my story, give me some feedback! I've got some pretty good, juicy, plot-twisty stuff comin' up, so I hope you stick with me for it. *laughs maniacally*

Ok. End rant. Thanks for reading!


	20. Chapter 19

Ch. 19

Hair damp, teeth finger-brushed, desires satisfied, and souls weary, Sherlock and Norah (gently) climbed into the bed with grotesque floral covers. She had stolen his dress shirt to wear to sleep, but Sherlock rather liked it on her.

"I hope we didn't get a noise complaint," she said, turning on her side to face him. He chuckled.

"Wouldn't be surprised. Nor would it be the first time if I recall correctly."

"Oh yeah! I had forgotten about that. Exams week, right?"

"Yep."

Norah propped herself up on an elbow. "Hey, tell me everything." Sherlock looked over at her and raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean everything?" He propped himself up in a similar fashion.

" I want to know everything about the last ten years."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"…It's a long story Norah." He said.

"I've got time. We have some catching up to do."

Sherlock didn't really like sharing about his life with people. Actually, nobody really asked him about his life. Ever.

"You first," he said.

"Okay." Norah agreed. "I'll share, but then you have to tell me everything."

They stayed up all night talking. Norah shared about how she finished her degree and masters in Biology at Cambridge then moved to Manchester. She told him how she had a few friends but was often lonely, and kept herself busy with work. She got bored often, and for a while she was pretty depressed. She went so far as to discuss her string of unintelligent buffoons of boyfriends. "You sort of ruined me for dating anybody with average intelligence," she admitted to him.

Sherlock gave few details about his using years before Mycroft cleaned him up. He didn't like to think about them. He told Norah how he began showing up at crime scenes and solving them for the police to entertain himself, and they stopped throwing him out after he solved six consecutive cases on the spot. He eventually expanded his focus to consulting and taking clients, he started getting income (a good amount of it), he got a flat, and quit smoking (mostly). He told her about how he met John who became his best friend, though he didn't admit it for a while. He told her about Moriarty and his "little tumble" off of a roof, and how he spent two years eradicating Moriarty's network. He told her about coming back to London, and John and Mary. He divulged Mary's secret, since he knew he could trust Norah. He went all the way up until Magnussen and Moriarty's return.

The sun began to rise and peaked through the window as he finished his series of anecdotes. There were a few case stories mixed in there as well. Norah rolled over and looked at the blinding light. "Oops."

She turned back around and buried her face into Sherlock's neck. He wrapped his arms around her.

"You've never told anybody that whole story, have you?" She asked.

"Nope."

"Me neither." She looked at the small alarm clock on the adjacent nightstand. Six thirty. "Why did you tell me then?"

"Because you asked."

…

"Careful going up the stairs Holmes, don't _fall_." Norah remarked as they sleepily walked up the stairs to 221 B the next day. She snickered to herself.

Sherlock turned around and frowned at her. "That's not very nice. Just don't make those jokes around John, that's a sensitive subject for him."

When she entered the flat, Norah immediately dropped her coat on the floor and crawled into Sherlock's bed. He watched her through the doorway, as she wrapped all of his sheets around herself, nuzzled up against his pillow, and closed her eyes. He smiled.

Back to work. He had a case to focus on. Sherlock took off his own coat and hung it up, then took a seat at his desk. He took some case papers and stuck them to the wall above the coach with tacks. He needed a visual on the whole thing. Next, he organized some more papers and the yearbook given to him into a large manila folder, and tucked it away into his file cabinet. Having organized everything, he stood up and went back to his wall, staring at it with his chin in his hand. "Norah, come and look at this." He was trying to find any details that would differentiate James and Rich. Which one was which? Had he met both at some point?

"…Norah!" He called, leaning his head towards the bedroom. No response. He rolled his eyes and stalked into his room, but realized that Norah was sound asleep. How long had they been back for? He peered down at his watch.

Oh. He had been looking at his wall for much longer than he thought.

He was about to tip-toe out when Norah grunted and reached her hand out, motioning for him to join her. Obediently, Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed.

"How long have I been asleep?" She questioned groggily.

"An hour and a half. Approximately." He moved her unkempt hair out of her face. Controlled chaos.

"I have work tomorrow, I need to go home." She began to get up.

Sherlock stood as well. "I'll get you a cab."

"Hey, wait." Norah stopped him and put her arms around his neck.

"…What?" He side-eyed her. Sherlock Holmes, the most brilliant mind of his age and he still couldn't pick up on these kinds of cues.

Norah gave him a hint by kissing him gently. "I missed you."

"Don't worry," he whispered, looking her straight in the eyes. "I'm not going anywhere this time."


	21. Chapter 20

Ch. 20

Sherlock did indeed get Norah a cab, waving a quick goodbye as he watched her climb in and ride away. He went back up to his flat and stared at his wall some more, when she called him.

"Hel-,"

"I should not have gone home," she said, cutting him off. Hearing her terrified tone, Sherlock went into adrenaline mode, snatched his coat, and ran back down the stairs. "You need to see this," she added.

"I'm already on my way," he said, flagging down a cab and jumping in. "Are you safe?" he muttered Norah's address to the driver.

"Well, no…just come take a look."

"Stay on the phone with me until I get there." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the door handle of the taxi.

"I have to call Scotland Yard," she said. Sherlock furrowed his brow. Was there a body in her flat or something?

"No need, I'll text Griffin Lestrade. Stay on the line." He lowered the phone from his ear briefly to shoot a text. "Still there?"

"Yeah, I've gone outside."

"What's happening?" He hated being kept in the dark.

"…I think Moriarty has been in my flat."

Sherlock was sure he felt his heart stop for a moment.

"Stay exactly where you are, I'm almost there."

Sherlock thrust some bills at the cabbie and bolted out of the car, his coat flying behind him as he ran up the stairs. Norah was sitting on the ground outside of her door, phone still to her ear. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. "Are you alright?" He said, panting.

"I'm fine. My cabinets, not so much."

"Well I…wait, what?"

The sound of sirens drew nearer.

"Just come look." Norah grabbed his hand and led him through the door.

A ghastly sight awaited the two of them. A red gooey substance was smeared in a thick layer across Norah's white cabinets, spelling out:

_YOU THINK YOU ARE SAFE. YOU ARE NOT._

…

"It's definitely blood," Anderson said, rubbing some of the red goo between his fingers and sniffing it.

"Okay, even I could have figured that out." Greg Lestrade said, rolling his eyes and walking past him.

"Ah, Griffin."

"It's Greg! You know what, never mind. I give up Sherlock."

"Inspector Lestrade, this is my…" Sherlock gestured to Norah, who awaited his next words.

He cleared his throat. "…This is Eleanor Sinclair."

"Just Norah. Very nice to meet you." She shook his hand. Greg raised an eyebrow and looked between the two of them.

"…Uh-huh. Any ideas Sherlock?"

"I can tell you who did it. Sort of."

"Who?"

"The person that goes by the name Jim Moriarty."

Greg heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. "I swear if I ever meet this guy, I'm going to take pleasure in punching that stupid smirk off of his face. He's giving me a lot of grief lately."

"Yeah I know the feeling," Norah remarked.

"Right. Sorry. Bridge. Forgot that was you."

"SO the question is," Anderson said, suddenly joining the conversation. "Who's blood is it?"

"I have a theory but I hope I'm wrong," Sherlock said.

Anderson got a good look at Norah for the first time, did a double take, and fixed his hair. "Hi there." He grinned a big toothy grin at her.

"…Hello." She said, smiling back. Sherlock rolled his eyes, inferring the disgusting thoughts going through his mind.

"I'd shake your hand, but…well…" He held up his bloody gloves to her.

"Anderson?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Your zipper is down."

Anderson looked down, but could not do much about his pants since his hands were bloodied. Turning red, he walked away to dispose of his gloves. Norah stifled a laugh.

"Call John and check that they're okay," Norah instructed, once she regained her composure.

Right. John and Mary. Sherlock whipped out his mobile and dialed John.

"Hello?"

"Is everything alright?"

"…Yeah, Mary and I are fine why do you ask?"

"Just checking."

"Wait, what's happened?"

"Norah's flat's been vandalized by Moriarty. No bloody cabinets at your place then?"

"No, oh my God is she alright?"

"She's fine. Say hello to Mary for me."

"Will do. Thanks for…you know…checking."

"Of course." He hung up and put his phone back. "Pack your things Norah, you'll stay with me."

"I will?" Norah asked.

"She will?" Anderson asked.


	22. Chapter 21

Ch. 21

Once again, Sherlock found himself back at his favorite microscope, waiting for a lab report from Norah. Once again, he drummed his fingers against the table, waiting.

He wasn't sure if he should write this off as intimidation, or if he should be seriously concerned for Norah. Perhaps it would be best if she left London for a while…

No, she was never going to do that, and he couldn't make her. He'd just have to keep an eye on Norah and not let any more harm come to her. Could he do that? Was he completely capable of protecting her?

Well, he was damn well going to try.

"Sorry that took so long," Norah said, coming into the lab with a clipboard. She appeared flustered.

"What's the verdict? Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Human, not animal blood. Anemic. AB positive." She rubbed her temples in frustration. Just as Sherlock had suspected. He sighed.

"We'll have to contact Samantha McCullogh's primary care doctor and see if that lines up. She was reported missing this morning by her sister."

Norah's eyes widened. "You don't think-,"

"She was anemic, I can tell you that much. Pale skin, rapid heart rate. Insomnia judging by the bags underneath her eyes."

Norah slammed the clipboard onto the table, startling Sherlock, and ran her hands through her hair nervously.

"Norah, he's just trying to scare us." He tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she stepped back.

"Yeah, he's doing a damn good job." She was shaking, and began rambling. "He _killed_ someone and _bled _them Sherlock. To make an art project in my kitchen. Because she tried to help us. He's a fucking loon. Oh my God, we have to call that nurse, Barbara. We have to drop this Sherlock, we can't investigate this guy anymore. What if he gets John or Mary? Or Molly? We can't-,"

"Eleanor," He said softly, pulling her into a hug. She stopped, sighed, and buried her face in his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm just freaked out."

"This probably isn't what you want to hear, but more people are going to die if we drop the case than if we finish this and lock Brook back up in a padded cell. He only does things like this to get my attention."

"I know, I know." She pulled out of the hug and rubbed her eyes.

"If you'd like to start avoiding me now I would be alright with that."

Norah's frown reversed a little bit. "No you wouldn't."

Curse her deducing.

"…Come here." He said, holding his hands out to her. She took them, allowing him to kiss her. Just then Molly entered, and upon seeing this, dropped all of her things. Norah and Sherlock turned around.

"Um, sorry, hi guys, I was just…" She crouched to the floor to gather her papers and files. Norah assisted her. "So you two are like a thing now? Like a thing thing?" She turned bright red.

"Uh, Molly-," Norah began.

"No it's fine! Really it's fine! Congratulations!" And just as quickly as she had entered, she scurried out. Norah turned back to Sherlock.

"What was that about?"

"I'm afraid Molly used to have a bit of a crush on me," Sherlock said rather casually. Norah, realizing that she probably hurt Molly's feelings, slumped into a nearby chair and put her face in her hands.

"This has not been a good day," she said.

Sherlock looked at his…whatever she was to him. He didn't like seeing Norah upset like this. He knew that he was partly responsible, indirectly. If she knew what was good for her, she would get as far away from him as possible, even though all he wanted her to stay right next to him.

"I have a plan."

"You always have a plan, you're Sherlock Holmes." She remarked sarcastically.

"We're going to go back to Baker street," he walked over to her and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "We're going to make some phone calls to make sure that the nurse is properly protected, then we're going to make some tea and go to sleep at a normal time."

"That sounds like a good plan," Norah said. "But we're stopping at the market first, you have no food in your flat."

"That sounds like a better plan."


	23. Chapter 22

Ch. 22

_Eight Years Prior_

Professor Sinclair's office was somewhat of a sanctuary for Norah when she was upset. She lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, the afternoon sunlight dancing through the only window in the space. Her face was tear stained, and she was thinking of all of the things she wished she hadn't said.

The door opened, and she sat up, rubbing her puffy red cheeks. The Professor stared back at his daughter, concerned. She could not hide anything from him if she tried.

"Hi papa, I'm sorry." She got up off the floor and tried to pull herself back together again.

Her father looked at her, heaving a sigh. "C'mon," he said, setting down his brief case and holding his arm out. "Let's go for some ice cream."

Norah sniffled, letting her father put his arm around her, and they left the office.

...

"So what did you two have a fight about?" Professor Sinclair asked, taking a bite of his scoop of pistachio. They sat at a small table outside of the ice cream parlor. He had made sure not to bring it up until Norah had a cup of ice cream in front of her. This was his specialty; whenever Norah was upset, they would go for ice cream and talk. They had done this since her mother passed away. He enjoyed this time with his daughter, and especially treasured it now that she was all grown up. His twenty year old pride and joy.

Norah looked down into her scoop of peanut butter cup, continually stabbing it with her spoon. "I've given up on asking 'how did you know?'" she said, smiling a little.

"It didn't take much guessing this time sweetie. You were laying on the floor crying. What happened?"

Norah scoffed. "It was so stupid, papa. I hardly remember half of it. He said something insensitive, and I called him on out on it. It just turned into yelling and he called me a stupid naïve child, and…"

"…And what?"

"…and I called him a heartless machine. And you know, normally when people say that sort of stuff doesn't even phase him. But I think I really hurt his feelings. He looked…sad. I didn't mean it I was just so angry." She shoved a large bite of ice cream into her mouth.

"So you're upset that you hurt his feelings."

"I guess, and he's just infuriating. We're just not like normal couples and sometimes it really gets on my nerves. He won't even call me his girlfriend! He treats it like a curse word. We've been together for _two years._"

Professor Sinclair put his cup down. "Norah, can I let you in on a little secret about Sherlock?"

"Please."

"He is the most guarded, insecure person I have ever met."

"…I suppose I already knew that. He just always seems so sure of himself."

"Well, he gets behind all of his walls and doesn't let people who don't understand him get to him. He's totally brilliant, a genius, he just doesn't always pick up on social cues. Severe ADHD and potential Asperger's doesn't sound nearly as threatening as high-functioning sociopath."

Norah giggled.

"The point is," the professor said. "It's never going to be normal with him. He's going to say insensitive things and not think twice about them sometimes."

Norah put her head in her hands. "Sometimes I get so mad at him. But then I remember that I wouldn't rather have anyone else, or have it any other way. It's silly."

"You really love him, don't you?"

She looked up from her hands to her father, eyes sad. "Sherlock doesn't believe in love. I'd never tell him."

"Oh, I don't know if I believe that. He let you behind his walls. That sounds like love to me."

Norah thought for a moment. Sherlock didn't treat her the way that some of her friends' boyfriends treated them. Nonetheless, he showed her that he cared for her in his own way. He told her personal things sometimes, things he didn't tell other people. He trusted her.

"I'm not expecting a wedding invitation. I just want to make sure you're happy."

"He makes me really happy papa," she said sincerely, though she had fought with him mere hours ago.

"You're good for him, you know. Too good for him."

"Papa," She said rolling her eyes.

"What? Nobody's good enough for my Norah."

"Well, you're still my number one." She said, taking her father's hand across the little table. He smile, the wrinkles by his eyes turning upwards.

When they got back to campus, Sherlock was pacing outside the professor's office door. He looked up at Norah and Professor Sinclair as they walked towards him. Norah stopped.

"Well, I'll just give you two a moment then." Professor Sinclair smiled at Sherlock as he walked past him into his office, shutting the door.

"…Norah I-,"

"I'm sorry I called you a machine. I didn't mean it."

He walked towards her. "It's alright. I deserved it. I don't quite function like other people sometimes."

Norah wrapped her arms around him. "I wouldn't have it any other way." She couldn't see Sherlock's big smile into her shoulder.


	24. Chapter 23 Pt 1

Ch. 23

221B was largely improved by Norah's feminine presence. First of all, she ensured that the flat always smelled good. She would light scented candles or prance about the living room with a canister of air freshener, which never failed to frustrate Sherlock. Then there was the fact that she cooked well, and was willing to. Sherlock was eating out less now that Norah was staying with him. The fridge was now a place for food, not human remains. She did add to the mess, however. She was not a totally organized person. But Sherlock (though he wouldn't admit it) enjoyed the company now that John had moved out.

And you know, sometimes they snogged or copulated. Occasionally.

One evening, Sherlock returned home from examining a crime scene to find John and Mary in his kitchen with Norah. They were drinking wine (except for Mary of course) and eating various snacks. He stopped in the living room, puzzled.

"…If this is a surprise party I am thoroughly disappointed."

"Sherlock Holmes I'm afraid the world does not always revolve around you," Norah teased, pulling a tray of sliced vegetables out of the refrigerator. "Join us!"

Cautiously, he came into the kitchen.

"What's going on?" He asked, side eyeing John.

"You can't just have your friends over for wine and cheese for no good reason?" John asked

"Oh please, I know you all. There is never no good reason."

"Actually Sherlock, there was something we wanted to ask you…" Mary said, smiling at John. Norah popped a cheese cube in her mouth and sat on a nearby stool, listening.

"…Yes what is it?"

"…John?" Mary said, encouraging her husband. John cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, you're my best friend-,"

"Our." Mary interjected.

"Right, _our_ best friend, and…well…"

"…Well what?" As brilliant as he was, Sherlock had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Well Mary and I were wondering if…"

"…If?"

"If you'd like to be Ava's God-father." He said.

"Sorry, who?"

"Our daughter, Ava Watson." Mary said, lovingly rubbing her protruding stomach.

Sherlock squinted his eyes. "You're naming it _Ava_?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Mary asked, getting defensive.

"Nothing, it's your child you can name it whatever name you please."

"Sherlock don't be a prick," Norah said, rolling her eyes.

"You're just butt-hurt that we didn't name her Sherlock!" John shouted at him.

"IT COULD BE A GIRL'S NAME TOO!"

"What is going on?" Mrs. Hudson said, suddenly entering the flat unannounced. Her focus was diverted when she saw Norah. "Oh! Hello darling! Still staying here? I may have to start charging you rent!" She joked, winking.

John turned back to Sherlock. "…So is that a yes?"

"…Do I get any say in naming it?"

"NO." The couple shouted at the same time.

"…Not even the middle name?"

"Sherlock!" Mary whined.

"Fine, yes. Of course." He threw his hands up in defeat. Mary got out of her chair (slowly) and hugged him. John patted him on the back. Norah smiled, looking on from the corner.

Then from the laptop sitting on Sherlock's desk came a strange series of beeping noises.


	25. Chapter 23 Pt 2

Ch. 23 pt. 2

"What is that, what's making that noise?"

"I think you're getting a Skype call, Sherlock," John answered him, going over to his laptop. He scrunched his nose. "Who is 'foxy135?"

Norah, having heard this, ran over to the laptop as well. "Yeah Sherlock," she said, folding her arms. "Who _is_ foxy135?" She pursed her lips menacingly.

"What? I don't know any-,"

He paused, recalling a certain tie pin that a certain person had worn in a certain courtroom.

"Everyone get out."

"Sherlock Holmes I swear if you are nudie webcam calling someone I will strangle you." Norah said, scowling.

"It's Moriarty."

Everybody in the room stopped to look at him.

"Get out of the frame. John, take Mrs. Hudson back downstairs please." Sherlock sat at his desk and motioned for the others to sit on the couch. John quickly escorted Mrs. Hudson out.

"Are you sure it's him?" Mary asked, slowly lowing herself onto the cushions.

"I'm sure." He stared at the green 'answer' icon on the screen, thinking.

"Don't answer it," begged Norah. She looked up at him with fearful eyes.

"I have to. Don't make a sound." He nodded to her reassuringly, took in a deep breath, and clicked the green icon.

"Hello Sherlock." Jim Moriarty (or James Brook, or Richard Brook, or whoever he was) sat in an emerald green chair in an otherwise empty room, staring back at him on the screen. He smiled, but there was uneasiness behind the grin that made something in Sherlock's stomach churn. This was the first time he had actually _seen_ the man since the day on the roof.

Sherlock swallowed dryly. "Long time no see."

"Aw, you did miss me, didn't you?"

"So, what sort of criminal endeavor do you have lined up for me today?" He asked, casually. They spoke as if they were colleagues. As if this was just business.

"Well," Moriarty said, adjusting himself in his chair, "I'm going to tell you a story."

Of course. He loved stories. Just then, John came back into the flat, casting a shadow into the frame.

"Oh, is that Johnny boy?" Moriarty said, pointing to the shadow on his screen. "My congratulations to him and the missus. Hope the baby gets her genes and not his."

Mary covered her mouth and held her stomach. John on the other hand stopped, clenched his fists, and went to the computer. Nobody was going to threaten the life of his child. Not even the greatest criminal in all of England.

Mary tried to stop him. "John don't-,"

"Listen you," he said, pointing. "If you pull _anything_ involving my family-,"

Moriarty laughed. The doctor was not amused.

"_What_ may I ask, is so funny?" John snarled, leaning into the computer screen.

"Sorry Johnny, you're old news. You've become boring. No, I've got a _new_ favorite toy of Sherlock's."

Sherlock clenched his jaw.

"She's there, isn't she?" Moriarty asked. Sherlock didn't answer him. "Come out come out, Eleanor. I know you can hear me." He cooed, chillingly.

With hesitation, Norah sighed, stood up off the couch, and walked towards the desk.

"Norah, don't-,"

"It's okay Sherlock," She said, coming behind him and resting her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Oh, but you SHOULD BE." He suddenly screamed, getting up and grabbing the computer screen. Norah flinched. Regaining his composure, Moriarty smiled at her and licked his lips. Sherlock grabbed her hand protectively. "How'd you like my mural?"

"Didn't really match the rest of my décor," Norah qipped.

Moriarty chuckled. "She's feisty, I like her. You picked a good one, Sherlock." His eyes raked Norah in the most terrible way.

Sherlock had become fed up with the senseless banter. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"Right, my story!" He said, clapping his hands together. "This one is called Snow White and the seven dwarves." He sat back down it his chair.

Sherlock's mind began to race, searching for everything that he had ever read or seen having to do with the fairy tale.

"I'll give you twelve hours to figure it out this time," Moriarty said.

"You haven't told us anything," said Norah.

"I have. In fact, I've just told you everything. Twelve hours. Go."

Suddenly the call was ended.

The flat fell silent for a few seconds.

"John, Mary," Sherlock said, finally breaking the silence. "Take Norah to stay with you two for the night."

"Of course," Mary said, welcoming Norah without thinking twice.

Norah shot him a look of bewilderment. "What? No, I'm staying here." She backed away from his chair and folded her arms.

Sherlock stood up. "You heard Moriarty, you're his new game. You'll be safe with John and Mary." If anybody could keep Norah out of harm, it was Mary Watson and her impeccable aim with a pistol.

She shook her head. "I can help you."

"I have no doubt that you could help me, but I'm more concerned with your safety right now-,"

"Sherlock I-,"

"Norah _please!_ Just do this for me." He grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Please."

"…Okay." She said meekly, defeated. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom to gather some things. Mary got up and went to help her.

"John," Sherlock whispered, catching his friend by the arm. "Keep her safe. Please." His eyes were uneasy.

John nodded, reassuring him. "Of course I will," he said.


	26. Chapter 24

Ch. 24

Norah gave Sherlock the silent treatment while she was gathering her things, then she reluctantly left with John and Mary. She would sleep on their couch, seeing that their guest room was in the process of being turned into a nursery. Sherlock walked them out, watching their SUV drive away. If Norah was involved in this next installment of Moriarty's schemes, she would be safe(r) with the Watsons.

When everyone was gone and the flat was quiet, Sherlock sat down in his chair, put his fingertips against his chin, and began thinking. "_Twelve hours. Go."_ He closed his eyes, and just like that, he was walking the halls of his mind palace, searching for anything pertaining to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. He searched every mahogany shelf, every nook, every cranny.

Obviously, this was a metaphor. What Sherlock needed to figure out was who Moriarty was going to make his Snow White. Norah was a possibility. Then there was Mary and Molly. He pulled out his phone.

"Hello? Sherlock?" a sleepy voice answered.

"Molly, I'm just checking up on you. Are you in any imminent danger?"

"Uh, I don't think so. Why, should I be concerned?"

"Nope. Never mind."

"Wait, Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"…Thanks for checking."

"…Right. Goodnight." He hung up. Back to thinking.

No, Moriarty liked to shake things up. Keep him guessing. This time was going to be different. More creative.

Sherlock stood up and began pacing with his eyes shut, moving his hands around like he was scrolling through papers and drawers in his sanctuary.

_"Snow white. Evil witch, obsessed with self-image. Mirror. Poison apple?"_

Sherlock went through everything having to do with apples and poison in his brain. Mass poisoning of the produce sold in London? No, even Moriarty didn't have those kinds of resources.

_"Snow White. Hunter. Cutting out a heart."_

He focused on that part of the story next. Was he going to find a human heart in a box with a big red bow on it at his doorstep tomorrow morning? No, not public enough. That didn't get Moriarty enough recognition. He liked the details, but he liked making a statement even more.

_"Snow White. Fair skin. Comatose. Awoken by a prince's kiss."_

Putting people to sleep? Something having to do with something white? Flour. No. Kissing? The Royal family? No, no, no.

Sherlock held his palms against his temples. There was something he was missing. Something obvious. Something staring him in the face. He started over.

_"Snow White. Seven dw-"_

_"…Seven Dwarves."_

Seven dwarves. Mine workers. Mining?

He racked his brain for the locations of any mines in the UK, both operating and out of use. _"Coal mines: Northumberland, Durham, Nottinghamshire, Wales, Yorkshire, Lancashire, Midlands, Kent." _

He opened his eyes, and to his surprise the sun was already up. Paying its blinding rays no mind, he hopped on his computer in search of any news concerning any mining fiascos.

_"Victory against open-cast Bradley Mining, Co. Durham."_

He clicked on the google link.

_"A vote was held to shut down the UK: Coal mine in Durham due to poor upkeep, breaking of safety regulations, no creation of new jobs…"_

Scroll. Skim.

_"The mine will be shut down and safely imploded on March 12__th__…"_

Sherlock checked his phone. March twelfth was today. Something was going to happen at the shut down Bradley coal mine.

Seven Dwarves. Sherlock went to the BBC London News website. The first headline to pop up was _"Seven Kidnappings in One Week."_

Eureka.

Sherlock threw on his coat, ran out of his flat, and took out his phone. "Mycroft, I need to borrow your helicopter, and I need you to make some phone calls."


	27. Chapter 25

Ch. 25

"What the devil-," A man in a hard hat said as a helicopter drifted to the ground behind him. The rest of his kin looked on, just as confused as he was. A tall man in a long coat stepped out of the craft and ran towards him. "What is this?" he asked the strange man.

"Has this mine been properly evacuated?" The man asked, without answering his question.

"Who's askin'?"

"The parents of seven missing children."

"…What? Nobody has been in this mine for months."

"I'm not so sure." Sherlock walked past the man towards the entrance to the cavern.

"Stop!" another worker yelled. "You can't go in there! It's set to blow in fifteen minutes!"

Sherlock's eyes darted to his watch. "It's on a timer," he said to himself, causing the men in hard hats to look at him strangely. To them, Sherlock was a crazy guy with a helicopter interrupting their assignment. Probably a pro UK Coal guy or something.

Twelve hours was up in fifteen, now fourteen minutes. Sherlock suddenly threw off his coat and his jacket, and made a run for the entrance to the mine. No time to explain to these people. A few men shouted and ran after him, but he reached the lift and shut the door, lowering himself down into the caves. The construction men yelled at him from above.

The voices of the workers eventually faded as Sherlock descended into the abyss. He reached the bottom of the lift shaft and opened the door. The mine was pitch black, black as coal, one might say. There were light bulbs, but they weren't on due to the soon-to-be destruction of the mine. He used his cell phone to light his path, shining it onto his watch. Eleven minutes.

"Hello?" He called out into the darkness, stepping forward with caution. No answer. He shone the dim light around him, looking for any signs pointing to the location of seven "dwarves."

Sherlock picked up his pace, still being careful where he placed his feet. He began to encounter tunnels leading off into other directions, not sure if he should walk down a certain one. This place was a labyrinth. He called out into the entrance of each tunnel, hoping for a few small voices to answer him. Nothing. Time was running out, and his phone battery was rapidly draining.

Sherlock reached another lift at the end of the main tunnel. The mine went down even farther. Apprehensively, he checked his watch. Seven minutes. He was starting to think that he might be blown up along with the rest of the mine. Quickly, he climbed into the lift and lowered it down.

At the bottom of the shaft, he opened the door to find a small stuffed rabbit on the ground before him. He picked it up. He was getting close. He began to run down the tunnel, not minding his step at all anymore. "If you can hear me, let me know!" He shouted.

"Hello!" a young voice called out to him from his left. He shined his phone light in the voice's direction, and illuminated several small faces, who shielded their eyes from the light. He counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Sherlock approached the children, who backed away from him. He held his hands out to them. "No, it's alright, I'm going to get you out of here." He said. "Now which one of you is the oldest?"

"Sir?" A boy tugged on his sleeve. "I'm twelve years old."

"Very good. What's your name?"

"Franklin Carmichael, sir."

"Franklin, you're going to be the leader." He handed him his phone. "You're going to lead us out of here, and I'm going to be right behind you to make sure we all get out. Can you do that?" He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Yes, sir." Franklin nodded.

"Good, everybody follow Franklin. Go to the right until you see the elevator." Sherlock instructed. The children began to exit into the main tunnel behind the young boy. Sherlock counted them as they left. Six. Where was seven?

He heard a whimper from the corner. In the miniscule amount of light he had from the phone that was currently going in the other direction, he could make out a little girl crouched against the wall. She must have been about five or six.

"C'mon," Sherlock urged, pressed for time. "We have to follow the others."

The girl shook her head. Suddenly, Sherlock had a thought. He pulled the stuffed rabbit from his back pocket. "Is this yours?" He put it into her hands, since she probably couldn't see it anymore.

"Mister Hopsalot!" She exclaimed, hugging the plush toy. She stood up and grabbed Sherlock's hand, and he picked her up, running after the other children.

Above the ground, police men and a bomb squad were securing the area. A news team had even been called out and was now reporting on the lunatic that went into the mine about to be destroyed.

"Look!" a construction man shouted, pointing to the mine's entrance. The lift had been brought back up, and six young children covered in soot ran out, followed by a man carrying another child covered in soot as well. "Go! Go! Go!" Sherlock shouted at them.

A loud _BOOM_ erupted from the mine's entrance, and a powdery black cloud flew up into the air. Just in time.

The police were now collecting the children and making calls over their radios, requesting paramedics. "How did you know?!" The first construction worker asked Sherlock as he approached him. Without a reply, he handed off the young girl with the rabbit to the construction worker, then blacked out.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, still in Franklin's hand.

_Bravo._

_ -JM_


	28. Chapter 26

Ch. 26

That morning Norah went to work as usual, but worried for Sherlock. They hadn't spoken since she left for the Watsons.

She watched the clock in the lab. It was noon and twelve hours had long since gone by, with no word from Sherlock. Her hands were fidgeting as she injected samples into a carrier stream.

Molly came into the room with a clipboard, but she didn't make eye contact with Norah.

"Hi, I'm just here for those results?" She said uncomfortably. Norah could see that things had been different between her and Molly since she found out about Sherlock. They hadn't spoken much outside of business and work, and Norah missed her friend.

Norah removed her gloves. "Of course." She nodded and went to her file box, taking some toxicology papers from a folder. "Died of sepsis, but you probably figured that out already."

"Yeah," Molly chuckled awkwardly. "The gash on his leg was pretty gruesome."

Norah handed her the papers, and Molly muttered a thank you.

"Molly wait," Norah said, catching her before she left. She turned around and looked at her for the first time. Molly dreaded this conversation. "I should have told you about me and Sherlock earlier. I didn't know that…well…"

"That I used to like him? It's okay." She said, waving her hand. "We didn't exactly work out. I'm not smart enough for him."

Norah sighed. "Molly, you're one of the most brilliant people I know," She said. "And Sherlock thinks so too. Why else would he go to you to help him fake his death?"

Molly smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, I suppose. I hope everything works out." She said sincerely. "Besides, I actually have a date on Friday!"

"Oh, wonderful!" Norah said, beaming. "With who?"

"Greg!" Molly blushed and pushed a piece of hair out of her face.

Norah furrowed her eyebrows. "Wait, Greg _Lestrade_?"

"Yeah! We're going wine tasting." Molly's cheeks were getting redder by the second.

"That's…wow erm, that's...great. I hope it goes well."

Norah heard her mobile vibrate on the counter, and Molly swore she never so saw her move so fast.

_Being transferred to St. Barts. Almost there. See you soon._

_ -SH_

"Everything alright?" Molly said. Norah didn't answer, but typed furiously.

_What happened?_

_ -NS_

"Oh, I forgot," Molly said. Norah finally looked up from her phone. "Sherlock called me in the middle of the night last night to make sure I was okay. What's he up to?"

"…He did? That was sweet of him…" Her phone buzzed again.

_ Coat dust. Lots of it. Not prime conditions for breathing._

_ -SH_

…Huh?

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"Coal Dust."

"...What?"

"Sorry, gotta go. Have fun on Friday!" Norah said, throwing her lab coat on a chair and running past Molly, who looked terribly confused.

…

Sherlock, still covered in black soot from head to toe, walked out of his bronchoscopy (a completely unpleasant experience,) carrying his coat and jacket in his arm. Down the hall a ways someone saw him, began running, skid across the floor, tripped, and fell flat on her face.

Norah.

He jogged towards her, trying not to laugh. A few nearby nurses had already gotten her to her feet when he reached her. She looked at him, panting from running there from the other side of the hospital. "You look awful," she said between short breaths.

"Hello to you to."

"Are you okay? Did they let you out? Can you leave now?" Norah was desperate to know what happened.

"Yes yes," He said, pulling off his patient's bracelet. "I'm in terrible need of a bath, though."

She looked him up and down, observing the soot. "Seven dwarves. Mining."

Sherlock smiled at her. "Clever girl."

"I just got off early. Let's go home, I want to hear about it."

"You'll probably catch something in the news if you tune in. Moriarty loves anything that makes a good headline." They walked down the hall together towards the elevator. "Erm," he said, stopping her. "Let's take the stairs. I'm afraid I've had enough of elevators for today."


	29. Chapter 27

Ch. 27

Sherlock emerged from taking his bath (which took quite long, seeing as he had to scrub all of the coal dust off of himself,) to find a plate of grilled chicken, rice, and salad sitting on the counter for him. He tied his bathrobe and looked over At Norah, who was standing over the stove with a glass of white wine in her hand. "Thought you might be hungry," she said, tossing him a fork. "I know you, you forget to eat when you're working."

Sherlock felt rather…domestic.

Huh. This wasn't so bad, actually.

"Thanks," he said, not bothering to sit to begin eating.

"Want some?" She asked him, holding her wine glass up. He went to the cabinet to fetch another glass, taking the bottle from the counter and pouring himself some. "You of all people should know not to get me around alcohol." He said, taking a sip and returning to his late lunch.

Chuckling, Norah sat in a stool across from him with her own plate of food. "Still can't handle your liquor then, Holmes?"

"I won't go into details about John's stag night." He said, mid-chew. He shuddered just thinking about it.

"I'll just use my imagination then."

"You're one to talk," He remarked. "I seem to recall driving to a wild social event just to drag you, barely clothed, off of a table that you were dancing on once."

Norah nearly choked on her rice. "What? When was that? I don't remember."

"Of course you don't. Second year, first term. Why is it that the Biology majors were the alcoholics?"

"We had the most rigorous coursework, we had to forget our exams somehow," She said, sarcastically, taking a bite of lettuce. "Are you going to tell me about the seven dwarves then?"

"Right," he said. He had saved the story until they got home. "After you left, I immediately figured out that it had something to do with the dwarves-,"

"Bullshit," Norah said, facetiously sipping her chardonnay. Damn her deducing.

"Fine, when I _did_ figure out that it had something to do with the dwarves…"

He continued his story, sharing every little detail with Norah. She liked details, she craved them. He didn't often get to discuss his cases this extensively with anybody anymore, but Norah just sat there and listened to him. She always did. Her eyes lit up when Sherlock spoke, soaking in his words like rays of sunlight. She leaned in closer when she couldn't stand the suspense, and she grabbed her face when something good happened. Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off of her while he told his tale. She was so breathtakingly beautiful, with her dark copper hair up in a careless ponytail and her porcelain complexion, make-up free today. He liked it when she didn't wear make-up; he felt like he could see more of her. Every one of her reactions to his story was a picture perfect moment. He used his photographic memory to capture mental images of her, and carefully tucked them away into a drawer in his mind palace.

When Sherlock finished talking about his latest adventure, the food was finished and the wine bottle was empty.

"I'm still mad at you, you know. For sending me away."

He smiled at her. "I know."

Norah stood up and walked around the island to take his plate from him, but he took it from her hands and got up. He walked around and took her plate as well, putting them in the sink. He then moved to the pans on the stove and the salad bowl. She watched him affectionately.

"You should get some rest," she said. "You've been awake for over twenty four hours."

"Hasn't stopped me before. There is far too much work to be done. It's not even six yet." He stalked away from the sink and went back to stare at his wall. Which man was Richard, and which one was James?

His thoughts were interrupted by Norah's hands resting on his shoulder blades. She had this awful numbing effect on his brain.

"Sherlock, darling, if you're not going to do it for your own sake, then do it for my sanity. Sleep."

Sherlock turned around, looking down into her angelic face. She worried for her crazy crime-solving beau.

He reached up and caressed her cheek gently. "Alright."

In his bedroom, Sherlock removed his robe and replaced it with a night shirt and his flannel pajama pants. He had just finished brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Norah entered his room. She was wearing a baggy white "I (heart) New York" t-shirt and a pair of Sherlock's boxers. So that's where the checkered pair had disappeared to.

"I uh, I didn't sleep much last night either," she said nervously, looking down at her feet. "I was too worried about you. And you know, there's that draft upstairs in my room-,"

"Norah," Sherlock beckoned. He sat on the edge of his bed, holding his hand out for her.

A shy smile crept across her face as she reached out to take his hand, and they climbed into bed together. No sex, just intimacy. Often times, there's a difference.

Sherlock laid down, resting on hand behind his head and the other on Norah's thigh. She kneeled next to him in bed.

She seemed so ethereal to Sherlock. He would never understand how she could not see that quality in herself as plainly as he saw it in her. Sure, she was clumsy and she cursed like a sailor and her nose dripped when she cried. But that only made her _heaven on earth_.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

Norah heaved a shaky breath, gazing into his ocean blue eyes. "I think I'm falling in love with you all over again."


	30. Chapter 28

Ch. 28

Sherlock watched the words leave her mouth like maple syrup dripping from a spile in slow motion.

Why did she have to do that?

They had such a good thing going.

Why did she have to say the L word?

Sherlock sat up to face her, but he did not say anything back. He was afraid to reply at all. Knowing himself, he would probably just spew out something hurtful and regret it later. He just sat in stunned silence, feeling like all of the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

Norah waited, but he was utterly speechless. The corners of his mouth quivered as he searched for words, but found none. None that she wanted to hear, at least.

"It's okay," She said gently, adjusting her sitting position so that she was hugging her knees. "I wasn't expecting you to say it back or anything. I know you're not an advocate for this sort of thing."

Sherlock felt badly, like he had tricked her or something. His eyes were sad as he looked down at the sheets and listened to her speak.

"I just thought…I just wanted to tell you." She looked up at him, but he avoided her eyes. He said nothing.

"…because I know that sometimes, even though you don't show it, you feel lonely and like nobody wants you around, especially now that John's gone and settled down. And you try to play it off like you're too good for them anyway, the people that don't understand you or call you a psychopath. You surround yourself with your mile-high walls and you shut off your emotions, but I know you still hurt sometimes. I just thought…"

She choked on her words, and she had to take a moment to regain her sense of articulation.

"I just thought you might want to know that you've got someone to fall back on. You've got one person who's always going to be rooting for you."

Still, he said nothing.

"I know I'm no John Watson," she joked. "Best friends come before girlf-, sorry, romantic interests." She had already uttered the L word tonight, and she did not want to shock Sherlock further by using the G word too.

"I suppose I'm just trying to say that I'm on your side."

Sherlock felt as though he had just been emotionally stripped naked. Norah was the first person to ever discuss those insecurities with him so openly. He didn't even admit those feelings to himself, and she picked up on them like they were written on his skin for her to see, plain as day. He felt exposed, and unprotected, and like he wanted to run away and hide. He felt vulnerable.

Silence. Sherlock still said nothing. A thick mist settled over his thoughts; he couldn't think of anything to say that would better the situation. He could only think of things to say that would make it worse, like how Norah was stupid for letting her heart rule her head. She was succumbing to the greatest human error. She was smarter than that. He could say that love was an imaginary fantasy for children, a human error. He could say that he wasn't capable of loving anyone in this way.

So instead, he said nothing. And that was the kindest thing he could do.

Heart heavy, Norah got up out of the bed. She wasn't expecting him to say that he loved her back, but if he said _anything_ at all it would have been nice. She worried that she might have broken Sherlock, like her words had fried his brain and reduced it to mush.

"I'll just go back to my room then. I can tolerate the draft." She turned on her heel and wandered out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. Sherlock heard the creaky stairs above him as she ascended to the second floor.

He felt really terrible. He didn't mean to make Norah fall in love with him, and he didn't mean for it to be unrequited. That's just who he was.

A high functioning sociopath that didn't have the capacity to love someone like this.


	31. Chapter 29

Ch. 29

John Watson felt utterly fulfilled in life. For a while, he had wondered if he would ever settle down and have a family, and now he was married to the woman of his dreams and was awaiting the birth of his daughter. Everything was wonderful.

And yet he missed his friend in the funny hat and their adventures. Sherlock was right, John was addicted to a dangerous lifestyle, and he hadn't done anything impulsive or stupid with Sherlock in a very long time. He was quite happy that Sherlock had Norah now, she was good for him because she could take his b.s. . He just hoped that once Ava was born, he could still find a way to solve a crime or two with his best mate. They didn't talk all the time like they used to and it bothered John a bit.

John was in his office thinking on this, waiting for his next patient to arrive, when his cell rang. Speak of the devil.

"Sherlock, hi, what's up?"

"John, how soon can you get to Baker street?"

John looked at the clock. "I suppose I could stop talking walk-ins a bit earlier than usual, but I've got patients coming till three. Why, is everything okay?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm in a rather troubling predicament." John could hear Sherlock's own footsteps in the background of the call. He was pacing like a madman.

"What's happened?"

"I need to plan a date."

"A date. Right…Like a date with Norah?"

"Yes. You know, where two people who like each other go out and have fun. That kind of a date."

"Well what's the big deal? It's easy. Just find something that you both like to do and do it."

"…Do crime scenes count as dates?"

"Oh boy." John slammed his face into his palm. "I hope not, because if that's the case we have been on a _lot_ of dates."

"John I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

"Okay, okay, I'll come over as soon as I'm done at the office. When does she usually get back from the lab?"

"I took the average of her arrival times; five forty-two and thirty-six seconds. Hurry."

"Okay, you better hope that I get a cancelation." He hung up. Better text Mary and tell her he would be home a little later than usual.

...

When John was able to get to 221B, he found Sherlock crouched in his chair, hugging his knees and staring at his laptop.

"What are you doing?"

"Research," mumbled Sherlock.

John meandered around to see what was on the screen.

"…Are you watching a Meg Ryan movie?"

Meg Ryan and Billie Crystal sat in a restaurant on the laptop.

"I'm not _watching _John, I am _doing research!_"

John tried to hide his chuckling.

"This isn't funny!" Sherlock slammed the computer shut and jumped out of his seat.

John took Sherlock's place in the chair.

"I don't see why you're so frantic. Dates aren't supposed to be hard, you're over thinking it."

"I never over think anything." He grumbled.

"Why the sudden urge to plan a date for Norah anyway? You two have been going steady for a few months now."

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at John, his expression full of guilt.

"I'm afraid I spoiled Norah's evening last night. Rather badly." John could see that he was seriously stressed out. He had _four_ nicotine patches stuck to his forearm.

"What'd you do this time?" he asked. Sherlock opened his mouth like he was going to begin explaining, but he did a double take and scowled at John.

"She told me that she loves me."

"Sherlock that's, wow, that's wonderful!" John's expression evolved from delighted to perplexed. "I don't understand, why is that-," he paused, suddenly realizing Sherlock's dilemma. His expression then evolved to a horrified one. "Oh my god," he breathed, putting his head in his hands. "You didn't say it back."

"Of course I didn't! How can I express something which I do not believe in?!" Sherlock shouted, defending himself.

"You. Complete. Andutter. _FUCK." _John yelled back at him, causing Sherlock to jump.

Sherlock's jaw dropped slightly. He was shocked. He had never heard John use that word before, let alone towards him.

John got up and marched towards him in a confrontational manner, prompting Sherlock to back away.

"You know, for a genius, you sure are stupid. Norah might be the best thing that's ever happened to you and you are going to lose her IF YOU DO NOT GROW UP AND GET OVER YOURSELF!"

"I KNOW THAT!"

"You _better_ make tonight perfect." John said, prodding him in the chest. Sherlock was his best friend, but he knew him, and he knew how he was capable of unintentionally hurting people's feelings. He felt slightly protective of Norah, knowing what she was going through.

"Why do you think I needed your help?"

"So you are going to say it back tonight then?"

"Of course not, don't be stupid John."

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlooooock," He whined, turning away from him.

"Look," Sherlock said. "I don't know how to properly go on a date, a real one at least. I faked a few for Janine but that was different. What is easy for people like you with average intelligence – sorry – does not come as easily to me. I screwed up last night and I don't want to make that two nights in a row. Are you going to help me plan something nice for Norah or not?"

John turned to face Sherlock again. His friend looked oddly desperate.

"Fine," he huffed. "Don't hurt this girl Sherlock. Don't you dare break her heart."

"Yes, that's the goal." He replied apprehensively.

They stood locked in a stare down for a moment.

"Okay," John finally sighed, regaining his nerve. "Have any ideas to start with?"

"...The internet said dinner and a movie."

"Oh my God, this is going to take longer than I thought…"

(***Thank you for reading! If you feel compelled, take a sec and write me a review! I love feedback. I will take any [constructive] criticism you have to offer. Anything to better the story. In addition, if you have any questions about "The Girl in the Red Coat"or just want to discuss Sherlock for funsies, shoot me a message. I want to know my readers! Thanks again, and stick around because there's something rather shocking that happens in the next few chapters ;) )


	32. Chapter 30 Pt 1

Ch. 30

Norah Sinclair was very good at her job. She paid attention to detail, she was meticulous, and she could read and interpret test results faster and more accurately than anybody. She even helped some of the doctors with diagnosing patients. She was a super-star clinical lab technician.

But not today.

Today she hardly got any work done.

Norah was very good at her job. But she wasn't very good at it when she was upset.

Her shift seemed like it lasted years and her breaks seemed like they lasted seconds. She had to ask someone to repeat things that they had said to her on more than one occasion. She just wasn't all-there today.

When the clock struck five, Norah wondered whether she should even go back to Sherlock's flat. She didn't exactly want to see him. She was afraid of what he would say, and more afraid that he would continue to say nothing at all. She feared that she had ruined everything with Sherlock. All it took was the L word.

Maybe now was a good time to finally lease a new apartment. She could go look for something closer to St. Bart's on Sunday when she had off. Something that she could move into as soon as possible.

When she arrived back at Baker street, she walked briskly up the stairs past Sherlock's floor to her room, hoping he wouldn't see or hear her. She was surprised to find her taupe chiffon dress laid out neatly on her bed, and a note left next to it. Gingerly, she picked out the piece of paper and read.

_ Firstly, I am going to ask you to forgive me in advance. I'm not so good at this 'date' thing._

_Secondly, as you have figured out by now, we are going on a date. I know I should have asked your permission properly beforehand, but there's no use in protesting now since I'm not around to hear it and therefore cannot take your disapproval into consideration. Just put on your dress then turn this paper over for further instructions. Do not read ahead._

_ Fondly,_

_ SH_

_Post Script: Please, don't 'stand me up'._

_Post Post Script: I didn't pick you out any footwear, but if I were you, I'd wear something I could climb in._

Norah couldn't stop the smile from sneaking across her face. She didn't bother making deductions or turning the paper over in advance. She would let this one be a surprise.

Quickly, she undressed and slipped on the garment selected for her. From her closet, she selected a pair of trainers and her red coat. She had a hunch that she would be going outside. Finally, Norah skipped into her bathroom and started to touch up her makeup, but then decided against it. She noticed that Sherlock tended to stare at her more often when she _wasn't_ wearing any concealer or mascara, so she wiped it all off with a tissue, leaving only her lip balm. When she deemed herself acceptable looking, she went back to her letter on the bed and flipped it over.

_Dressed? Good. Walk outside onto the sidewalk and turn right. At the end of this complex is a small alleyway to your right. There is an old fire escape ladder on the side of the building. Climb it all the way to the top. It's rather treacherous so be cautious. I'll be waiting._

_ -SH_

On her way down the stairs, Norah crossed paths with Mrs. Hudson. "Good evening," she chirped, passing her on the staircase.

"Oh, Norah. I was wondering, is Sherlock quite alright?" she inquired with a touch of anxiety.

"I couldn't tell you, sorry. I'm on my way to meet him now. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, that's reassuring. I thought I heard violin music coming from the _roof_ earlier, but it must have been my imagination." She waved her hand and continued up the stairs with her laundry basket full of Sherlock's folded dress shirts. Norah giggled as she continued on her way.


	33. Chapter 30 Pt 2

Ch. 30 Pt. 2

(Please don't kill me, here comes the mushy part. Sorry.)

As she approached the top of the ladder, Norah could indeed her the sweet canticle of Sherlock's violin strings crooning. A blanket with a picnic basket, a bottle of shiraz, two plastic cups, and some candles awaited her on the rooftop. Sherlock was standing next to the spectacle, bowing away. He was dressed in one of his usual combinations of slacks a dress shirt and a jacket, and as usual he looking dashing. He stopped playing when he saw Norah step off of the ladder.

"Sorry. Just passing the time." He set the violin down on the corner of the blanket, looking back at Norah, waiting for what she was going to say. Her face remained seemingly emotionless as she took in the scene before her. John assured him that Norah would find this very romantic. Had he done something wrong?

Finally she smirked, looking up at him. "Just don't jump off this roof this time, okay?"

He scoffed. "That's my girl." He sat down criss-cross on the blanket, motioning for her to take a seat.

"Was this John's doing?" she asked, lowering herself next to him.

"No, why? Is it so shocking to you that I organized this singlehandedly?

"Sherlock."

"Okay, yes, John helped. But I did most of the work."

"Sherlock."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I made the sandwiches." He uncorked the wine bottle and poured her a glass.

"What are we toasting to?" Norah asked, raising her glass. Sherlock poured his own glass and raised it as well.

"To…Harry and Sally."

"…Sorry, what? Who are Harry and Sally?"

"Never mind. To women who have the patience to endure their stupid gawking consultant detectives." He tipped back a rather large gulp of wine.

Norah rolled her eyes at him, and took a sip too. "Is this supposed to be an apology?" She asked.

"That depends," he said, pulling a ham sandwich out of the picnic basket and handing it to her. "What do you think I'm apologizing for?"

"I hope it's for the fact that you made me feel like a pathetic moron last night because you didn't have anything to say to me for the first time in your life." She raised her eyebrow then bit into her sandwich vindictively.

"Oh, yes, right, that too. I'm apologizing for two things then."

"What's the second?" she asked, wiping a driblet of mustard from her bottom lip.

"…Myself. The way I am. I suppose there's no other way to put it." He was overtaken with conviction, but he did not look away from Norah's eyes. He was not going to be a coward like he had been last night.

Norah swallowed and set her sandwich down. "Darling, you don't have to apologize for that."

"Yes, I do," he said. "This isn't fair to you, because I can't…I don't…"

"I told you, you don't have to. I'm not asking you to change yourself to accommodate me, Sherlock." She took his hand to reassure him. She could see the prepared dialogue that rested on his tongue, even though he was doing an awful job of expressing it.

"Norah," he looked down at her hand in his. "Don't think that because I don't believe in love, means that I don't care for you. I've made it very evident that I do. Very much."

"I understand, Sherlock. It's alright."

"My greatest wish is just for you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And if you know that getting married and having children is going to make you happy, then I don't want to ruin that for you." He sucked in a sharp breath and continued. "If you know that living an a house in the suburbs with a red door and a picket fence someday is going to make you happy, then I don't want to prevent that from becoming your reality." Sherlock felt as though Norah was drifting father and farther away from him with each scenario. "If you know that a man who eats breakfast every morning and has a normal job and is…is normal…is going to make you happy, then-,"

"Sherlock," she pressed her fingers to his lips to stop him. He had become more and more saddened with each word out of his mouth.

"…Yes?" He finally replied.

Norah shrugged. "Where's the originality in any of that? Why would I want those things, when I'm looking right at the person that makes me the happiest?"

Sherlock shut his eyes and turned away, his bottom lip from quivering. "I can't make _anybody_ happy, Norah. Trust me."

"You know, it's sweet of you to concern yourself with what I want, and selfless to tell me to go find something better, but what do _you_ want, Sherlock?"

He looked back up at her, eyes scanning every inch of her face. Nothing. No deductions. There were never any deductions. Norah was always going to be his unsolved case. His greatest mystery.

He exhaled a shaky breath. "I want you to stay."

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

He gabbed her face and kissed her ardently. They both sat up on their knees to get closer to one another, but no matter how close Sherlock got to her it wasn't close enough. He wrapped his other arm around her back to hold her to him tightly.

"See, told you," he said, pulling away momentarily. "I've ruined this date and it's barely even started."


	34. Chapter 31

Ch. 31

(Warning: This is a semi-nudie chapter.)

They cleaned up their picnic quickly and went back down to the world below, handing the rest of the wine and the sandwiches off to a random passerby before going back into 221B. Norah had just enough time to set down Sherlock's violin for him before he scooped her up in his arms and carried her away to his room.

He took an extra long time unzipping Norah's dress so that he could kiss every bit of her shoulders and back. He was in no rush. They had all the time in the world. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing the back of her neck and sending shivers down her spine. She turned around in his arms to face him, sliding his jacket off and reciprocating the kisses, but all down his chest while un-buttoning his shirt. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, as the kisses trailed down farther, and father and…

She stopped bellow his navel, standing back up to undo his pants. "Easy, tiger."

"You're nothing but a damn tease. That's just cruel." But he forgot all about her coquettish trick when her kisses moved to his neck and jaw. He couldn't stand it any longer and found her lips with his again. Suddenly, she took his bottom lip between her teeth. Sherlock found himself both hating and loving the fact that she knew just how drive him mad. He undid her bra and pressed a firm hand to her small breast, causing her to whimper. It was like a twisted competition: who can turn the other on the most?

The shirts that Mrs. Hudson had folded neatly and placed on Sherlock's bed were soon kicked to the floor and wrinkled all over again. At one point Norah accidentally fell off the bed, and after all of the giggles were gotten out, they just moved the ordeal to the floor. And against the wall. And, just because Sherlock had always wanted to try it, the island in the kitchen. His kitchen was a place for experiments, after all. Norah just prayed that they didn't wake Mrs. Hudson up.

When they finished, they returned to bed and Norah fell asleep immediately. Sherlock checked his cell on the nightstand.

_So, how was it?_

_ -JW_

He smiled.

_You should rethink your career path and consider becoming a professional date-planner._

_ -SH_


	35. Chapter 32

Ch. 32

The next morning, Sherlock got up early with Norah. He had to go make an appearance in front of the Palace of Westminster to be recognized for saving the children from the Durham mine and meet their families. He wished he could bring John or Norah for moral support, (and to make sure he didn't say anything offensive to any of the families,) but they both had work, so he would just have to be sure to keep his opinions and deductions to himself today.

Norah had a mug of tea waiting for him on the counter when he had finished showering. He grabbed it, kissed her forehead while she read the newspaper, and retreated to his room to get dressed. She was gone by the time he emerged.

The scene outside of the parliament building was rather overwhelming. The press always flocked to Sherlock like pigeons to crumbs whenever he made any public appearances, so he was met by an army of flashing cameras upon his arrival. He pushed through the sea of photographers and people shoving recording devices in front of his face and sauntered up onto the platform that was set up for the occasion. They were really making a much bigger deal out of this than was necessary.

When he got up on the stage, he was suddenly attacked with a fervent hug by a young lad.

"Hello Franklin," he said. Patting his back. He looked across the platform at the rest of the children and their parents, spotting the little girl still clutching Mister Hopsaot.

A quirky man wearing a tweed jacket then bounded onto the platform and approached the microphone.

"Today," he said, quieting the press. "We commend a national hero for once again, saving the day.

Sherlock stood behind him with his hands clasped behind his back, and had to actively prevent himself from rolling his eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes is not only England's most remarkable detective," the man continued. "He is also an extraordinarily good Samaritan."

Sherlock was trying really hard not to say something offensive or awkward.

"These precious children, the keys to our future-,"

"Oh, give me a break," Sherlock mumbled.

"Sorry Mr. Holmes," the man said, leaning away from the microphone. "What was that?"

"Nothing. I coughed. Continue."

He did so, ignorantly."…The keys to our future, would not be standing here beside their parents and loved ones today if it weren't for the selfless heroics of Mister Sherlock Holmes."

The man beckoned one of the children forth, who handed him a box with a small bow on top of it. "Which is why the families of the children have banded together to present Mr. Holmes with this small token of their immense gratitude."

As Sherlock stepped forward to accept his gift, the families and children began applauding for him. He took the box from the man in the tweed jacket, who stuck out his hand. "C'mon Mr. Holmes let's give the press a nice picture."

Sherlock removed his black gloves and shook the man's hand, the glare of the camera flashes blinding him. He gave them a nice scowl.

And then he had a thought, and looked down at their clasped hands.

And then he gasped.

And then he let go of the man's hand and darted off of the stage, the press beginning to chatter as he ran away.

"Mr. Holmes, what are you doing?" The man called after him.

"Sorry, gotta go! Thanks for the watch!" He flagged down a cab and climbed in, the press running after him with unanswered questions.

The man in the tweed jacket turned to the parents of the children. "How did he know it was a watch?"


	36. Chapter 33

Ch. 33

Grumbling because he had to "call out sick" from work, John climbed up the stairs of 221B for the second day in a row. He entered the flat without knocking, ready to scold Sherlock, but all he found was Norah.

"Where is the git?" He asked, popping his head in the kitchen. No Sherlock.

"Got you out of work too did he?" She said, pointing down to her lab coat.

"This better be good. If this is to plan a second date for you two, you're on your own."

"Right, thanks for that by the way."

"Yeah, how'd it go? He was really afraid of mucking it up."

Norah tried to contain her smile. "Fine. Just fine."

"Did he…erm..did he say…" John rotated his hands around, not wanting to fill in the rest himself.

Norah shook her head. "No."

John heaved a sigh and looked at the floor. "Norah, I'm so sorry," he said, approaching her. "Sometimes I don't know how you do it."

"Yes you do," she scoffed playfully. "You've been doing it for years." She punched him in the shoulder.

"Well, yeah, but not like this. He just…he means well. You're the only woman who he's ever been in a _real_ relationship with. That's saying something, if it makes you feel any better."

"Actually," Norah said, "I feel okay. We're okay. We're great." She smiled like she knew something that John didn't.

"Oh…well…good. Brilliant."

"John, Norah, excellent timing," Said Sherlock, suddenly strutting into the flat.

"This had better be important, Sherlock. I can't keep missing work," said John.

"Oh, I assure you John, it is of the utmost importance." The diabolical grin on his face and the twinkle in his eyes was reassuring to John. Sherlock must have discovered something exciting.

"Well, let's have it then. Spit it out," Norah bid him, impatiently.

Sherlock looked at Norah, then, looked at John. "Shake my hand John."

"…What is this?"

"A handshake."

"Do you have something that's going to electrocute me in your palm?"

"For God sakes John just shake my hand!"

With shifty eyes, John apprehensively held his hand out to Sherlock, who took it. Norah looked on, observing intently.

"Now, pick that glass up off the desk without looking at it."

Ever confused, John picked it up with ease and presented it to Sherlock. He was left-handed. Sherlock beamed, let go of John's hand then jumped up and down excitedly.

"Sherlock I'm missing something. Do you know what this is about?" He asked, turning to Norah and pointing to Sherlock. She looked just as lost as John, but was searching furiously for what she wasn't seeing.

"John, think back. The pool. Midnight."

"I try not to."

"Moriarty answered his phone with his left hand, yes?"

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention to which hand he answered his phone with. I was sort of more focused on the fact that we were about to die."

"He did, answered it with his left hand, indicating dominance in that hand."

"Okay, he's left handed, what's the big deal?" John asked.

"THE ROOF JOHN! THE ROOF!" He shouted, throwing his arms in the air. He paced over to his wall, waving his hands around the papers.

"What about the roof?"

Sherlock spun back around, eyes wild, mouth practically foaming. "On the roof, Jim Moriarty naturally shook my hand with his right hand and grabbed his gun with his left, but he fumbled with it slightly."

"It wasn't his dominant hand," Norah commented.

"Precisely!"

"Look at you two, match made in heaven," muttered John.

"On the roof he motioned with his right hand, touched his face with his right hand, shook my hand with his right hand, but at the pool he appeared left-handed. When he came to my flat he was left-handed." he was pacing back and forth.

"Suppose he was ambidextrous?" John said.

"No, no no no. In Kitty Riley's flat, he held up his right hand in defense when he saw me. It was an involuntary muscle movement. The handshake on the roof was as well, and so was answering the phone and picking up the teacup. They never switched between their two hands during one isolated encounter."

Norah nodded at him. "Richard Brook was right handed in the television show. He killed himself on the roof,"

"And James Brook is still alive," Sherlock finished.

They looked at each other suddenly, a great deal of lust in their glares which made John incredibly uncomfortable.

"Brilliant. Why?" He asked, trying to cut their sexual tension.

Sherlock cocked his head at him. "Why what?"

"Why would Richard agree to kill himself to make a statement for his brother?"

Norah walked up to the wall, running her fingers over the papers. "…Maybe he didn't agree, maybe James persuaded him. Blackmailed him." She suggested.

"Oh no, I think he agreed whole-heartedly," Said Sherlock, pressing this fingertips together in his 'thinking pose'.

"What makes you say that?" asked Norah. John sat down; It was evident that he was going to be here for a while.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Folie a deux."

Norah's face lit up like a Christmas tree, but John squinted. "…We're speaking French now?"

"Sherlock," Norah exclaimed, grabbing her cheeks. "You're a genius!"

"So I've been told."

"Would somebody please fill me in here?!" John begged.

"The folly of two. Also known as Shared Psychotic Disorder. A condition in which an otherwise healthy person takes on the delusions of someone who is mentally ill, particularly someone that they are close to." Sherlock held his hands up, palms out facing them. "I believe Richard was not naturally ill, but that James indoctrinated him. Made him believe in his plots and schemes. He was very willing to sacrifice himself in order to aid his brother in walking me off of a roof, and he was a very good actor. Very good indeed, _except_ for his hands."

John and Norah stared at him in silence.

"BRILLIANT!" John shouted, jumping up and hugging his friend. Sherlock was so startled that he almost fell over. To this day, Sherlock's sagacity never ceased to amaze John.

"Yes. Well." Sherlock didn't know what to say. He patted John on the back.

"What happens now?" asked Norah. "Can we lock him up?"

"He has a rather persuasive effect on juries. I have to appeal to Mycroft about not giving him a trial. Even then, James may have connections in parliament. We need to wait it out for now. Unfortunately. I'll go see Mycroft now." Sherlock started for the door.

"Stop," Norah demanded. "John, I do love you but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What? Why? Did I do something?"

"No of course not, I just need to rip all of Sherlock's clothes off."

Sherlock and John both shot her the same blank stare, but Sherlock's was probably fueled by something a bit more primal than John's.

John gulped. "Right. Yep. I'll just be going then. " He scrambled out, terrified of PDA. "Erm, enjoy yourselves, I suppose."

Norah looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at Norah.

And before either one of them knew it they were tangled up in sheets.


	37. Chapter 34

Ch. 34

A few mundane days went by, Sherlock kept calling Mycroft to debate with him about Moriarty. He wouldn't give his brother any of his new intel; he used it as leverage to persuade him to incarcerate Moriarty without a trial.

It was early evening in 221B. Norah liked this time of day the best because a) she could come home from work and relax on the days she had only the day shift, and b) If Sherlock wasn't out solving a murder, he was sitting at his desk working on something. Norah would sit on the couch across from him and slyly watch him work. She just enjoyed observing him, and liked to make a game out of what she imagined was going on in that brain of his.

This afternoon, Sherlock was indeed sitting at his desk, organizing some papers for the case, and Norah was indeed glancing up at him over her book and mug of tea. Her spying was interrupted by her cell phone ringing.

"Hello?"

"Get up an walk out of the flat."

The voice chilled her to the bone.

She paused, her heart racing, wondering what she should do. Was it better to obey him, or alert Sherlock as to who was calling her?

"It's the hospital, I'm going to step outside and take this."

Sherlock grunted his approval.

Norah got up from the couch and quickly made her way down the stairs and outside of the building. She gulped before she put the phone back to her ear.

"What do _you_ want?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"What makes you think I am willingly going to do you a favor?"

"Well, if you look up and a _little_ to your left, you'll notice a sniper in the window that is fixed on Sherliepoo's brain."

Norah's eyes darted to the building across the street. SHe could barely make out a man with a gun in the window.

"So you're gonna go get in that black car across the street, and call your honey boo to tell him you're needed at work. If my driver hears you tell him something else, I'm going to give the sniper the OK."

"Where am I going?" Norah asked, crossing the street to the car without hesitation. She didn't know what else to do.

"It's a surprise." Brook chuckled on the other line. He then hung up. Norah turned back around and looked into the window of 221B. She could make out Sherlock's head rested on his hands.

Obediently, Norah got in the back of the black car and dialed Sherlock.

"Hello?"

"Hi, erm, I am needed back at the hospital for a little bit so I'm heading over there."

"Fine." She imagined that he was still in the middle of something at his desk.

"…Sherlock?"

"Yes? What?"

"…I love you."

"…Erm…enjoy the lab."

"…Okay. Bye." She sighed, praying that this would not be the last time that she ever heard his voice. There was so much more she wanted to say.

As soon as she hung up, the driver reached back for her phone and took it from her hand. Without saying anything, he started the car and they were off. And Sherlock had no idea.

…

"Now, here's what you're going to do for me," James cooed to Norah, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. He walked around her in a circle like a lion stalking its prey. She stood still, tying not to cry or even look frightened. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that. "I'm going to be very honest with you. Because I think honesty is the best policy." He stopped in front of her, and spoke very quietly. "You're going to die whether you choose to do this favor for me, or not."

Norah's breath caught, but she remained motionless. "_Don't show him you're scared. Don't show him."_

"Your choice now is whether or not your boyfriend dies."

She couldn't hold it together anymore. She could feel the lump in her throat rising and her eyes welling up.

"And John, and Mary, and the baby," he continued.

That did it. Norah blinked, allowing the tears come out now.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, voice shaking. James chuckled and wiped away a tear. She jerked away.

He leaned down and began whispering instructions in her ear. Norah's teary eyes grew increasingly wider as he continued. Finally, she covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. "No," she breathed. "No. Why? How do you gain anything from this?"

"In case you haven't noticed sweetheart, I gain _everything_ from watching Sherlock squirm. I came back from the dead for it."

"No you didn't." she snarled, seething. "_James."_

"Oo, very _very_ good. That one took a while to figure out, huh?" He got very close to her face, smiling, and whispered "But only you and your friends know that." He suddenly grabbed her face in his hand, causing her to whimper. "And I'm going to make sure it stays that way."

…

Sherlock's phone buzzed from his pocket. Perhaps it was Norah coming home from the hospital. He withdrew the phone, and as usual, he was right.

"Yes, hello?" he said, answering the call.

"Sherlock, I've solved it. I found the missing piece of evidence we've been looking for."

…What?

"…What? What did you find?"

"I don't have time to explain, but I can show you."

"Okay, I'll be at St. Bart's in a few minutes."

"No, uh, I'm actually the old Telecom warehouse in the industrial district. Come as fast as you can. "

…That's odd. Hadn't she just been at work?

"Okay." He got up from his desk and went to grab his coat.

"Oh, and bring that file folder you have on the case. Just to make sure my information lines up. Come alone"

He paused.

"…I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up, staring at the folder on his desk. Norah knew he had a photographic memory. He didn't need to bring the hard copy of their case file.

Something was wrong. She was in trouble.


	38. Chapter 35 Pt 1

Ch. 35

File folder in hand, Sherlock crept in to the already open door leading into the abandoned warehouse. It was nearly 9pm, so nobody was around the industrial district, except for a few vagabonds and stray cats.

Inside, the large empty storage room was dimly lit, with only one flood light in the corner of the vast room barely illuminating the place. As far as he could tell, nobody was there. Norah was nowhere to be found, so he waited, and assessed his surroundings.

Just then, Norah entered from a door at the back of the room and walked towards him. She walked without haste, and her face was calm. Odd. She sounded awfully urgent on the phone.

"I brought the files, like you asked." Sherlock said. He sensed that they were being watched.

Norah smiled half-heartedly, but didn't say anything.

"What was it that you found then?" he asked, clutching the file tightly, waiting for her next move. Waiting to see why she was in trouble.

Norah stopped, looked at the floor, then pulled a gun from her back pocket and pointed it at him.

No.

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he gulped. He didn't see that coming. He never saw this coming.

"Norah, whoever put you up to this, let me help you." He walked towards her slowly.

"If you take one more step I will not hesitate." She said, coolly.

He stopped in his tracks. Why would she say that? He was trying to come up with a plausible explanation for her behavior, but he couldn't. Was someone blackmailing her? His mind was cloudy. He looked her up and down, scouring her for anything he could see. Just this once he needed to be able to read her, deduce _something_. But there was nothing. No deductions.

"What is this?" He asked, breathlessly.

"I told you, I've got the case figured out." She smiled devilishly, with the gun still in her hand. "I'm that missing piece you were looking for."

Why was she smiling?!

"I'm going to tell you a story." She said. That was something that Moriarty had said to him once-,

Wait.

No.

Not her.

_Please. _Not her.

"Norah what on earth-,"

"Did you think it was a coincidence that I happened to move to London the week of Moriarty's return?"

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. "Norah please," he pleaded.

"And just a coincidence that I knew about the twins?"

"Stop," he begged, covering his ears like a frightened child.

"And a coincidence that I knew about St. Patrick's?"

Sherlock's heart sank to the floor. He felt his chest cavity collapsing, closing in on him, like he was going to be swallowed by his ribcage. He searched her face for anything that would indicate to him that this wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Not Norah.

But he couldn't find anything. She was just looking at him, smiling, gun in hand. Her hands weren't even shaking.

"You've been working for him. You're part of his network." He said, coming to terms with the situation. His eyes fell to the floor. Moriarty had been playing him like a puppet this whole time. It was a taste of his own medicine, he supposed. He had done this exact same thing to Janine, but his performance lacked the malice that must have come along with Norah's.

Why did it have to be her? The one person that he had truly let his guard down for, and she was holding him at gunpoint, _smiling. _

"Very good Holmes."

"What do you want?" He growled. He looked at her, eyes blazing. He wanted so much to hate her, to turn that gun around and point it at her, but he couldn't. He just felt…hopeless. Crushed.

Heartbroken. That was the word people used, right? He could feel it splinter and crack inside of him. People sometimes told him that he didn't have a heart, but now it was evident that he did, because it ached. This is what he had been afraid of when he fell for Norah again. He just didn't expect it to happen like this.

"You're going to hand me those files, you're going to go home, and you're going to leave this case alone and go back to taking your boring clients."

"Or what?"

"Or I would be seriously concerned about your God-daughter."

"Norah, you wouldn't, you love John and Mary-."

"Try me," she said.

He shut his eyes, going to his mind palace briefly, looking for something that didn't line up. It had all seemed so real, every smile and laugh and kiss and touch. She said she loved him.

"Oh god, you didn't actually think I loved you, did you?" She asked, her words laced with poison. She _laughed_.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He felt them stinging with the beginnings of tears.

"Oh, boohoo!" a familiar voice from behind Norah cried. James Brook stepped out. "Sherly's gone an got his heart stepped on!" He laughed, and stomped a few times on the ground, emulating his previous statement.

Sherlock remained silent. If he didn't have a gun pointed at him, he would have strangled Moriarty on the spot. He had killed a criminal before and he was certain that under these circumstances, he could do it again.

"She did a good job, huh Sherlock? Very good acting, Eleanor." He stepped in front of Norah. "I went looking for her a while back. I wanted to meet your university sweetheart. She was very happy to get back at you for leaving her without a trace all those years ago. You know, hell hath no fury blah blah blah."

"Thank you," Sherlock spat, suddenly.

"…What are you thanking me for?" James asked, turning back to his favorite toy.

Sherlock gazed up at Norah with daggers in his glare. "For reminding me why caring is _not_ an advantage." _Now _he was angry. Not because he had been bested, not even because he hadn't figured it out sooner, but because he had let himself care. He had let himself care so much that now, it hurt. A place in his chest was physically aching from this betrayal, and Norah showed no sign of remorse. He threw the folder down at James' feet. "Take it."

Brook picked it, up, flipping through the papers. "You didn't listen when I told you to leave me alone, Sherlock. I tried killing you but that obviously didn't work. But I've kept my original promise, you see." Tucking the folder under his arm, he turned around and twirled a strand of Norah's hair. "I've _burned the heart right out of you_." He set down Norah's hair and slid a slimy finger across her collarbone, a little too close to her breasts. Even now, Sherlock cringed protectively.

Norah looked Sherlock in the eye. "Sorry Holmes," she said. "But how could anyone fall in love with a _psychopath?_"

Sherlock froze, squinted his eyes, and looked up at Norah. Even now, she would not have called him that. She would have said sociopath.

Once James had turned back around, she began to blink rapidly.

_blink blink blink…..blink…..blink blink blink_

…S…..O…..S

Morse code.

_"That's my girl."_

_(***Thanks for reading! Give me some feedback if you feel so inclined!)_


	39. Chapter 35 Pt 2

Ch. 35 Pt. 2

"Go home, Sherlock Holmes. And stop getting in my way." Moriarty said, shooing him away.

A small smile flashed across Sherlock's face.

"NOW JOHN!"

From the doorway, a shot was fired into the flood light, causing it to shatter into a million sparks and leave the warehouse pitch black.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Moriarty screamed. He drew his own gun and fired wildly in the darkness around him. Sherlock darted towards Norah, (who dropped the gun,) blindly grabbed her arm, and made for the large vent in the wall that he designated as an emergency exit when he had walked in.

Blind from the blackness, he ripped off the vent, grabbed Norah's shirt, and pushed her through, crawling in behind her. Streaks of light came through the vent on the other side, and the small tunnel flooded with moonlight as Norah kicked the other side through. Having both crawled out, Sherlock grabbed her hand and began running with her towards a small portable across the lot. John caught sight of them, and ran alongside them.

Back at the warehouse, James Brook paced crazily back and forth in the dark. He pulled at his hair and growled angrily. Suddenly he slipped on something and fell over. He reached around on the floor for what had caused him to trip, when he felt drips of something thick and sticky under his fingers. His scowl turned to a smile, and he giggled maniacally.

John got to the portable first and forced the door open, slamming it behind them all as Sherlock and Norah ran in. "We need to make for the car," said John, panting. "He's probably got snipers everywhere, knowing him." Sherlock nodded, and turned towards Norah. She was safe now. But…

She was looking downwards at herself. Sherlock's eyes traced down to her hand, which was pressed against her lower abdomen. She pulled it away to reveal a large amount of blood. Sherlock gasped.

"Sherlock," she breathed, before collapsing. John caught her before she hit the ground, and laid her on the desk in front of them. Norah began crying out in pain.

Sherlock stood frozen, unable to speak. His mouth was gaping but he couldn't form any words. John acted on his adrenaline, ripping Norah's camisole to expose the bullet wound. "You're scarf," John said, holding his hand out to Sherlock, who remained still.

"Sherlock give me your scarf now!"

Snapping out of his trance, Sherlock ripped off his scarf and threw in to John. He then came alongside Norah, his eyes wide with panic. Norah cried and arched her back in pain as John pressed the scarf down onto the gunshot wound. Sherlock winced.

"We need to drive her to the hospital," John said.

"No, the car is parked nearly eight blocks away, she can't make it." He shook his head furiously, trying to come up with a plan. He couldn't think straight, not with Norah bleeding and crying on the table before him. He whipped out his phone and dialed an ambulance. "Here," Sherlock thrust the phone at John, since he seemed to be able to form coherent thoughts. He then took over holding the scarf down over Norah's wound.

"Yes, there's been a shooting, were in the industrial district," John's voice trailed off in the background as Sherlock focused hard on keeping Norah alive.

"Sherlock, listen-," she whimpered.

"Save your energy, don't speak." He ordered firmly.

"Sherlock wait," she said, reaching for his face. He looked up from the scarf and met her eyes, filled with fear. He tried to keep his composure. He had to remain calm. He didn't want to scare her even more.

"…Yes?"

"None of that was true, he made me-,"

"Shhh, I know." His hands were warm and sticky. He looked down to find the scarf already soaked.

Her breaths were shallow. "If I didn't convince you he was going to…I'm so sorry, I do love-,"

"Norah it's alright I know," he said, his voice cracking. He threw off his jacket and removed his dress shirt, throwing the scarf on the floor and replacing it with the shirt. Under his hands, Norah writhed in pain. Blood was seeping out from underneath her back as well. The bullet went all the way through.

"They said a few minutes-, Christ." John came back and saw how much blood she was losing.

"What about Brook?"

"I called Lestrade too, he's coming down. Sherlock," John said, taking over putting pressure on the bullet hole. Stepping back, Sherlock wiped his hands on his undershirt. He looked up at John.

John gulped, and shook his head.

Sherlock furrowed his brow, in denial of what had just been communicated to him.

"You're going to be alright," he said, approaching Norah and stroking her face. "They're on their way, just hold on."

"It's okay Holmes," she breathed, her eyelids drooping. "You don't have to lie to me."

Sherlock blinked, and felt a hot tear drip down his cheek. "No, no no no look at me." He got down closer to her face. "Just keep your eyes fixed on me, stay awake." More tears began to fall. He couldn't stop them.

"This is a really piss-poor way to die," she said, hinting a smile through the tears. Sherlock began to panic. He was having trouble breathing.

"Don't say that! Don't you dare say that! John where's the bloody ambulance?"

"Sherlock they're on their way just keep her awake!"

"Norah, don't-...You can't…" He felt as though his mouth was full of cotton balls.

Norah's glossy green eyes began to roll backwards. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Norah, Eleanor, not yet." Sherlock shook her shoulders gently.

She reached up frailly to fix his hair. "The game's over for me, darling." Was all she managed to choke out.

"It's _not_ over! The game is never over!" He looked helplessly at John, who could not do anything more. Norah's eyes had shut.

"No, no. This can't-," This wasn't computing for him. This couldn't happen.

The paramedics had pulled up outside, and John ran to flag them down. Sherlock stayed, trying to wake Norah back up. He checked her pulse. Nothing. He began CRP. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He bent down and breathed into her, no response. "Please," he implored against her soft lips. "Please, No."

Finally an EMT pushed him away and took over with a defibrillator.


	40. Chapter 36 Pt 1

Ch. 36

Norah awoke and found herself laying on wet sand. She sat up, looking around. Before her was a vast beach covered by an overcast sky. The cold surf came up and washed over her body, retreating a bit more pink than in had appeared before. She looked down, to find herself bleeding. A lot. Suddenly, the pain of the gunshot wound came back and she clutched her abdomen. So, this was "shock".

She scrambled up and searched for something that would help her. Directly to her right on the cliff was a wooden cottage. The one that she had come to with her parents ever summer as a child.

Limping as fast as she could, she hobbled towards it, climbed up the sandy hill, and burst through the front door. Everything was exactly as she had remembered it; A big bookshelf in the den next to her father's leather chair, her mother's apron hung up on the handle of the cabinet over the sink. Having staggered inside, she fell forward. "What do I do, what do I do," She repeated.

"Keep your eyes open, Eleanor."

She looked up. "…Papa?"

Before her stood Professor Sinclair, wearing the same goofy sweater vest he had worn on the last day she saw him. He helped her up, and set her down in a kitchen chair.

"I didn't know being a lab technician would be this exciting," he said, sitting across from her.

"Yeah, me neither," She moaned, hunching over.

"Female, twenty-nine, gun shot wound to the abdomen, estimated loss of blood is three pints…" A floating voice from above said.

"I guess I'm at the hospital now."

…

Sherlock was pacing back and fourth outside of the ward where they were operating on Norah. He was still bloody, but his clothes were not his priority at the moment. John had gone home to fetch Mary and make sure she was okay.

This had turned out to be a pretty horrid evening, to say the least. As strong and intellectual as Sherlock was, he didn't know how much more his nerve could withstand. If Norah didn't pull through…

No. She was going to pull through. She hadn't let him down yet, and hoped that she wasn't about to start.

"Sherlock," Mary called to him, waddling swiftly through the doors. She approached him and gave him a hug. He embraced her tightly, burying his face into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"How is she?" John asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock replied, running his hands through his hair. "They said it was a miracle that they didn't lose her in the ambulance." He looked frantic, his eyes darting about wildly.

"Don't you want to change?" John asked him.

"No, no I'm not leaving in case they come out to say anything about how it's going."

"We'll come get you if there's any news, go clean yourself up." Mary urged. He was in a frightening state.

"…Very well then," he agreed. He sulked as he walked away.

Mary waited until he was out of earshot. "Has he been crying?"

John nodded, sitting in a nearby chair and putting his face in his hands.

"I've never seen him cry before."

"I've only seen him cry once or twice," he replied.

"…She's not going to make it, is she?" Mary sighed.

John looked at her, saddened. "I don't think so."

Lip quivering, Mary lowered herself into the chair next to him.

"This is going to kill him," John whispered to her.

…

In the restroom, Sherlock splashed water on his face a few times and furiously scrubbed the blood off of his hands and arms. He put on a t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants that the hospital provided for patients. Leaning over the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror.

And then he broke down.

Silently, at first. The tears just started flowing, but they eventually evolved into sniffles and then sobs. He slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering it and bloody-ing his hand all over again. His knees buckled and he slumped into the corner of the bathroom, letting out several years worth of tears. That's how long it had been since he last cried _this_ much.

He began thinking of all the hurtful things he wished he hadn't ever said to her, the pain he caused her when he deserted her after her father's death, the nice things he could have done for her but never did for whatever stupid reason. He wished he had held her hand more, and told her how much she meant to him. He cursed his own shallow view that because he was Sherlock Holmes, he was entitled to remain callous towards people, or at least appear to be callous.

She was the one woman that accepted him despite his stupid neurotic tendencies. She put up with his OCD. She understood him better than he did himself. He was an unstable sociopath that solved crimes as an alternative to getting high, and she might have been the only person on the planet that was able to _love_ him for it.

And she was hanging on by a thread.


	41. Chapter 36 Pt 2

Ch. 36 Pt. 2

"So," Norah said with a strained voice. "What's death like? Is it nice?"

The professor chuckled. "Not nice enough for you to have to experience it yet."

"Well, I don't know that I have much of a say in that matter right now." She looked down, her blood beginning to pool beneath her chair.

The loud beep of an EKG could be heard floating in the sky. They were operating on her now.

She fell out of her seat, hunching into the fetal position on the floor. She could feel herself slipping.

"You have to hold on a bit longer," Her father said, getting down next to her on the floor.

"I can't," she said, weakly.

The beeping in the sky flat-lined.

…

A nurse came out of the double doors in surgical scrubs. Sherlock was just coming back from the restroom, and John stood up from his chair.

"Well?!" John said frantically.

"…I'm very sorry," the nurse said, turning to Sherlock.

He staggered backwards, unable to comprehend what he just heard.

"She just lost too much blood."

…

"No, wait," Norah managed to say in a raspy voice, having heard the EKG. "I'm not ready yet." She tried to get up, but her arms gave out from underneath her.

"Eleanor," a voice from the doorway of the cottage said. It was a woman's, and it seemed both familiar and forgotten to Norah. She looked up.

"…Mum?"

She had forgotten what her mother looked like, since she had passed away when she was only seven. She was a smaller-framed woman, and her hair was more red than Norah's. They both had the same china-doll face, though. She walked towards her in her blue cotton beach dress, kneeling beside her. "You can't leave that man with the curly hair behind just yet."

"I don't want to," Norah whimpered.

"Then get up, sweetie."

…

Sherlock fell over backwards. His legs just gave out. John tried to help his friend up, but he swatted him away. Mary sank back in her chair, covering her mouth with her hands.

"I didn't get to tell her, I didn't get to tell her," said Sherlock, repeating it over and over again. He began to cry and tug at his hair. He had done something similar as a child when they put Redbeard down.

John got down on a knee next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He knew exactly what Sherlock didn't get the chance to tell Norah. He had begun to cry as well.

"I should have told her, I should have just said it back." He hit his own temples, crazed. "Why didn't I just say it back?"

Suddenly he got up, making a run for the double doors into the ward. John and the nurse held him back. "I have to tell her!" he shouted

"Sherlock, she's gone!" John said hopelessly, trying to bring him back to reality. Sherlock tried to fight them off, but he didn't have much strength left in him.

…

Norah wasn't going to leave Sherlock, or John, or Mary and the baby just yet. The game was _not _over, she decided.

Mustering the rest of her strength, she climbed up off the floor and clutched the counter for support. She nodded to her parents, knowing that this was the last time she would see them until she was ready to join them. Then, with a burst of will to live, she staggered back out the door of the cottage.

She fell down the sandy hill back to the beach, landing on her stomach. A shooting pain travelled through her body, and she screamed. The game still wasn't over. Not just yet.

Slowly, and leaving a trail of red behind her, Norah crawled in the sand towards the water. When her knees gave out, she dragged herself.

She was going to see Sherlock again. She had to.

Finally she reached the surf, and with her last bit of energy, thrust herself into the sea.

Norah's eyes shot open, and she gasped in a breath on the operating table. The surgeons and nurses were removing their gloves and were about to leave when they heard the EKG begin to beep again.

…

"Nurse!" a man in scrubs burst through the double doors. "We need you in there. She's back."

Sherlock stopped fighting and stared up at the man.

"How?" asked the nurse, untangling herself from Sherlock and John.

"I have absolutely no idea," the man replied, as they rushed back into the ward.

"Oh my god," John breathed, scratching his head. A big, toothy grin plastered itself onto his face.

Sherlock could have melted into a puddle on the spot. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. The sudden flip flopping of emotions over and over again tonight was really taking a toll on him.

All he could do was smile, wipe his tear-stained face with his hands, and rejoice that he still had a chance to tell her.


	42. Chapter 37

Ch. 37

The obnoxious buzzing sound of all the machinery next to Norah's bed woke her up. She blinked a few times so that her eyes could adjust to the light. Hospital bed, again. Sherlock was right. He really was a health hazard.

Norah looked around to find Sherlock asleep on the windowsill cushions. He had large dark bags under his eyes. Norah suspected that he hadn't slept regularly for a few days. That's how long she must have been in here for.

She attempted to sit up, but cried out in pain and plopped back down as she was reminded of why she was there. The noise woke Sherlock, who quickly scrambled to get up and bolted to her side. He took her hand. "…Hello," was all he could think of to say.

Norah smiled at her goofy, tired man. "Hi Holmes. It's good to see you." She was overjoyed that she was around to see him again.

A nurse saw that Norah had awoken from outside, and came in with a clipboard. "Get out," commanded Sherlock, pointing to the door from whence she came.

"I have to check her-,"

"For God's sake woman, give me two minutes!" He yelled. The poor woman scowled and scurried out of the room.

"Be nice," Norah whispered. She suddenly caught a whiff of him. "You've been smoking, haven't you?"

"I needed it for my nerves. Listen, there's something I have to tell you," he said, lowering his voice and looking straight into her green eyes .

"Speak now or forever hold your peace then," she said. Sherlock scoffed.

He had been preparing to say this to her for four days. Now that she was awake, he found it much harder to get out than he had expected. His brow softened.

"I love you too," He said, barely above a whisper.

He _did_ love her, he saw that now and was willing to admit it. He had loved her for quite some time.

"…I know."

"What? What do you mean you know?" He said, frowning. He had hoped for it to be a grand surprise.

"You didn't say it with your words, you showed me with your actions. I knew, I just never thought I would hear you actually say it." Norah reached up and fixed his messy mop of curls. "I didn't think Sherlock Holmes believed in love."

"I didn't. You've ruined me," He teased. She hit him weakly. Norah was playing this off very smoothly, but inside she was giggling like a schoolgirl and jumping up and down. She was utterly elated.

"Having said that," Sherlock continued, "I'm going to have to ask you to stay away from me for the sake of your well being."

"Not a chance."

He shrugged. "Worth a try."

He leaned down and kissed her gently.

"Done yet?" interrupted the nurse, entering again in a much more sour mood than before. Sherlock pulled away and rolled his eyes as she came up to the bed and began asking Norah questions and checking her machinery.

"Now we match," Norah said when the nurse left the room.

"Ah yes, I suppose we do." Sherlock put his hand over the scar that Mary left him a while ago.

"She's awake!" Mary chirped as she entered the room with John, who was holding a large stuffed teddy bear. She gently embraced Norah.

"How are you feeling?" John asked, setting down the bear and leaning down to peck her cheek.

"Like there's a big hole in my tummy."

"Well, that's to be expected when there is in fact a big hole in your tummy," he chuckled.

"Probably better than having a bowling ball in your tummy," Mary commented as she tried to sit down with some difficulty.

"How's Ava doing?" asked Norah.

"Nice and healthy, due soon!" said John, beaming at the baby bump. Just then, Molly rushed into the room clasping a few sad roses.

"I'm so glad your okay," she said, hugging her friend a bit too vigorously. Norah winced.

"Hi Molly."

"It's a party in here," said John.

"Ugh," Sherlock grunted from by the window, taking out his vibrating phone.

"What?" Mary asked him.

"My mother won't stop calling."

"Well answer it, you prick! It's your mum!" Mary scolded him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and obeyed, winking at Norah before stepping outside.

"Thanks for the bear," she said to John, hugging it tightly. "And the flowers Molly." She reached over next to her bed for the ice water that the nurse had brought.

"Mum I'm a bit tied up right now, my girlfriend is in the hospital."

Norah spit the water out of her mouth. Everyone else in the room's jaw dropped, having heard what Norah just heard.

"_Yes_ I have a girlfriend, I thought Mycroft would have snitched by now…Yeah she's okay. I'd prefer not to talk about what happened…Actually, you do know her, do you remember Norah Sinclair?"

A loud shout of joy was heard from the tiny phone ear piece. Sherlock jerked it away from his ear.

"No I can't bring her over, she's in the hospital didn't you just hear me?...NO, YOU AND DAD CANNOT COME OV-,…hello? Damn." He stalked back into the room, where everyone was still gaping at him silently. He looked around, raising an eyebrow. "What? Have I said something?"


	43. Chapter 38

Ch. 38

The others eventually trickled out of Norah's room, but Sherlock stayed. Mrs. Hudson had brought over some clothes and a toothbrush for him while Norah had been sedated, so he had stayed overnight as well. He hadn't left since she was admitted. He blamed it on the fact that he was there to protect her, you know, just in case James Brook came hunting for her here. But Norah knew that wasn't his sole reason.

At around four in the afternoon, amid a game of chess taking place on Norah's bed, Sherlock spotted his parents coming down the corridor outside her room.

"Damn," He mumbled.

"Your parents are here, aren't they?" She didn't even have to turn around to look, she saw it on his face.

"Unfortunately." He picked up the chess board and set it on her bedside table.

"Why is it unfortunate? I'll be delighted to see them. I'm the patient, they're not here for _you_," she jested.

"Oh darling," exclaimed Violet Holmes as she came scurrying into the room, followed by Siger Holmes. She hugged Norah gently while her husband shoved his hands in his pockets and looked on.

Sherlock waved sarcastically. "Mum. Dad."

"It's been too long Mrs. Holmes," Norah said, beaming.

"Oh dear, call me Violet. Yes, last time we saw you was that dinner that your father had us over for, may God rest his soul." She looked over at Sherlock, who was leaning against the opposite wall. "What on earth have you put this poor girl through?!"

"In my defense, I did tell her to keep away from me."

"Well, you're a saint for sticking with him Norah," she continued. "I can't think of anyone who _needs_ to be kissed more than my Sherlock."

"Mum?!" Sherlock whined like a teenage boy, while Norah giggled.

"She's right you know," Siger said, nodding to Norah. Sherlock huffed and puffed.

"Well go on then, give mummy a hug." Violet opened her arms to her son, who trudged into her embrace. "…have you been smoking again?"

"…No."

"Liar," she said, smacking his shoulder.

"Care to tell us what happened to you Norah?" Siger asked, taking a seat across from the bed.

"…I'm afraid it's a long story-,"

"She was made to falsify her feelings towards me against her will me and then she was shot."

"Heavens, first you and now poor Norah? Who on earth is going around trying to kill you both?" Violet demanded, still unaware that Mary was Sherlock's shooter.

"I could give you a list of at least fifty people that would love the pleasure of shooting me."

"Stop it, Sherlock," scolded Violet, sitting beside her husband. Norah was really getting a kick out of watching Sherlock get reprimanded by his mum.

"Norah is very tired, she needs rest."

"What? No I don't!" Sherlock glared at her to go along with him, but she refused.

"See, she's fine. Now, tell us how you two got back together! And do sit down Sherlock, you're making me nervous."

Feeling outnumbered, Sherlock passive-aggressively took a seat on the windowsill.

Norah looked at her sweetheart, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "Care to share, darling?"

He rolled his eyes. "Norah moved to London in January and we reconnected. The end."

"That's it?" asked Siger.

"Not exactly."

Violet glared at her son. "I want the whole story."

"No you don't. Not in full detail at least." He widened his eyes on the word "full" for emphasis. Norah turned bright pink.

"Sherlock," she hissed.

"Oh, we're not daft Sherlock. We know you're old enough to be having sex."

Norah squeaked out of embarrassment and covered her mouth.

"MUM!"

"What? It's natural." Violet insisted. Siger was laughing at the whole exchange.

"For God sakes mother could we not discuss my sex life PLEASE."

"You're both using protection, yes?"

"MUM STOP!"

"Only if you tell me the whole story!"

Sherlock scowled. "Fine."

Begrudgingly, he began to tell his parents about him and Norah over the course of the last three months. He stuck to the bare details, keeping most of the sentimental fluff out, but every once and a while Norah would interrupt to mention something sappy or say something sweet about him. He didn't complain. When he finished the story, Siger began to clap.

"I don't know what you've done to him," Violet said, "but it's a miracle. You must be an angel."

Norah laughed. "No, goodness, of course not. I'm just a lab technician who pays attention, and calls him out on his B.S."

_"MY lab technician who pays attention and calls me out on my B.S."_ Sherlock thought, smiling to himself.

Violet clasped her hands together and looked at her husband. "This is so wonderful, seeing the two of you and being all together."

"Yes, perfectly charming. Should have invited Mycroft."

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Sherlock."


	44. Chapter 39

Ch. 39

Norah was allowed to go home the next day. She was wheeled out of St. Bart's in a wheelchair, and they advised her to keep the walking and moving about to a minimum for the next few days. So naturally, Sherlock carried her up the stairs of 221B. Domestic bliss. While they were away, Mrs. Hudson had set up extra pillows on the couch, and put an electric heating pad on the coffee table.

"Bless your landlady," Norah cringed as Sherlock set her down on the couch.

"I'll put the kettle on," he said, stalking off to the kitchen.

Astonishingly, Sherlock was an excellent care-giver. For her first few days home, Norah was sentenced to a strict liquid diet. Not particularly pleasant; She loved food. But Sherlock did his best to keep her satiated. He sent Mrs. Hudson to buy juice, hot chocolate, smoothies, pudding cups, chicken broth, yogurt, you name it. It was only when he stocked the fridge with the groceries that he realized he didn't have any solid food for himself. Looks like they would both be suffering through the liquid diet.

She was in pain, a lot. Norah refused to use too much of her morphine, and she found out the hard way that her oxycodone made her incredibly nauseous. Ibuprofen wasn't quite doing the trick either, not strong enough. She tried to hide it too; She would adjust herself on the couch while reading her book or fooling around on her laptop, and Sherlock would watch her cringe ever so slightly for every aching muscle that moved. He couldn't help but cringe as well, remembering the ache of his own bullet wound.

Sherlock knew that if he were in her shoes (or slippers rather), he would be utterly bored. Being primarily confined to the couch for two weeks must have been torture for Norah's outstanding brain. Mrs. Hudson was constantly checking on her, John and Mary visited a few times, as did Molly (once accompanied by D.I. Lestrade,) and even Mycroft came by for a few minutes before Sherlock kicked him out. But Sherlock tried his best to keep her stimulated. He would email her fascinating forensics articles that he refuted or corrected and play her in chess and debate her for hours. They even composed a new piece on his violin.

"Make it minor," she instructed.

"Why?"

"The minor scale is more interesting. There's more room for creativity and variation."

Sherlock set down his violin, perplexed. "Since when do you know music theory?"

"You didn't think I only took classes pertaining to my major at Cambridge, did you?"

"…You should have said something. I would have valued your artistic input more from the beginning of this project if I'd have known that you took a course in music theory."

"You didn't value it before?!" she sniped.

"Where were we? Minor mode?" To change the subject, he quickly picked up the instrument and improvised a melancholy tune on the strings.

Norah sipped broth from her mug, pondering. "It's missing something."

"A key change, perhaps?"

"No, it needs to be more chromatic. More eclectic." She sat up with some difficulty and vocalized a variation on Sherlock's melody with some extra notes in it.

"Since when can you sing?"

Norah turned red. "What? Since never. I can't sing."

"You just did," he insisted. She shook her head.

"I can match pitch, that's it."

"You've got an excellent timbre. Why is it that you've never sung before?"

"I keep my singing abilities locked up in the confines of the shower. I don't sing for people."

"I'm not just people."

"Sherlock, you're doing that thing where you're being arrogant again."

"Very well, I'll just have to monitor your showers more closely."

"Oh, joy."

They spent the rest of the evening composing, comparing composers, and bickering about each other's taste. Norah disliked the harsh, voracious sound of Wagner, and Sherlock found Mozart too simple and repetitive. They could both concede to enjoying Faure, however.

At night, Sherlock would help Norah hobble to bed. His bed, of course. Not only did her bedroom require the ascent of an extra flight of stairs, but it wouldn't allow him to keep a proper eye on her. When she managed to lay down, face scrunched up in discomfort, Sherlock would slowly climb into bed behind her and gently place his large hand over her gauze. The warmth on her stomach soothed her throbbing abdomen.

One night Norah thrashed in her sleep, waking both her and Sherlock. She stifled a wail from the agony of the sudden strain on her sutures. Without hesitation, Sherlock leaped out of the bed and fetched her morphine accompanied a glass of water. He nearly had to force feed her the medicine since her jaw was clamped so tight from the pain. Calmly, he held one soothing hand to her stomach and another to her forehead until her breathing slowed back down and she lay still again. Feebly, she reached up to wipe sweat and tears from her face.

"Nightmare?" Sherlock whispered to her, stroking her forehead.

Norah nodded weakly. "Yeah."

"As you are aware, I am no therapist, but if you care to discuss it-,"

Norah laughed exhaustedly.

"…Was it a humorous nightmare then?"

"No, I just imagined you as a therapist." She giggled some more and then clutched her stomach. "Ouch."

"I don't suppose I would be very good in that line of work. I'd guess everyone's petty problems before they could even sit down." He wisecracked.

"…I had a dream about the warehouse."

"Oh…I see…"

"Except you and John were both shot and I didn't know what to do." She wiped her eye as if she was tired, but she was really trying to expel an unformed tear.

"Norah." He lay down beside her, looking up at the ceiling. "I can't promise you that any of us are going to be safe from now on, I wish I could."

"I know, I know." With difficulty, she gingerly curled up beside him.

"But I _can_ promise that the next time I see James Brook, if I can get my hands on him-,"

"Sherlock."

"Right. Sorry. Not making you feel better."

"….Because the next time _I_ see James Brook I'm going to take pleasure in having his throat in my clutches."

"I like it when you talk about murdering people."

"Down, boy." She winked at him then shut her eyes, trying to drift back to sleep.


	45. Chapter 40 Pt 1

Ch. 40

Five minutes later, Sherlock's phone buzzed on his nightstand. He flailed his arm to the side to grab it, but instead pushed it onto the floor. After some unintelligible angry noises, he picked the thing up and pressed the answer button.

"Hm."

"Sherlock! Mary's going into labor," shouted a distraught John Watson on the other line.

"Congratulations." He mumbled.

"That John?" Norah asked groggily, turning her head towards him.

"Sherlock this isn't funny, we're on our way to the hospital. Meet us there."

"I can sleep in my bed just as easily as a waiting room. Call me when it's over."

"SHERLOCK HOLMES I AM LOSING IT RIGHT NOW AND I NEED YOU. PLEASE."

"Fine, I'll be there soon. Norah's practically immobile so it may take a few extra minutes."

"Hey!"

"I don't care, just get there. I'd be nice to have my best friend behind me to catch me when pass out."

"Sherlock, he's freaking out more than I am and _I'm_ the one about to have the baby," shouted Mary.

"Right. Be there in a few." He hung up, bitterly got out of bed, and changed out of his pajamas.

"Is Ava on her way then?" Norah asked. She sat up slowly and lurched off the mattress, using the nightstand to support herself.

"Yes. I've been to the hospital _far_ too many times this month." He began buttoning his shirt.

"Aren't you excited?" She put some yoga pants and her Cambridge sweatshirt on.

Astounded that she had even asked that question, he raised an eyebrow and turned in her direction. "For a small crying troll? No, thank you."

"You're repulsive. Don't you dare speak those words to John or, God forbid, Mary."

"Very well. Just don't ask me to touch it."

"_Her._ Her name is Ava you prick."

"Minor details."

When they managed to arrive at the delivery ward of St. Bart's, they found John sitting rather uncomfortably in a chair located in the waiting room. He tapped his fingers on his knees so hard that it was audible, and his complexion was the color of pea soup.

"Thanks for coming, I know it's early," he said, shooting up as soon as he saw them. Norah walked towards him slowly and embraced him.

"Excited to be a daddy?"

"I'm feeling more nauseous than excited currently." John said, helping her down into a seat.

"Aren't you supposed to be in there?" Sherlock asked. "Isn't that part of the ritual?"

"I would if I could but…" he held his fist against his mouth to prevent himself from gagging. "I'm a doctor, I've seen horrific shrapnel wounds and severed limbs. You'd think I'd be able to handle childbirth. I'm so nervous, I don't know what it is."

"It's your first child, it's okay to be nervous." Norah rubbed his back, comforting him.

"I just hate to leave Mary in there alone."

"Nonsense, she's probably fine."

Norah glared at Sherlock. "Have you ever had a baby?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Anatomically impossible."

"Then don't even _attempt_ to understand how childbirth feels."

"You've never had a baby either!"

"I get my period once a month!"

"OH God-," John grumbled, sprinting to the trashcan and hurling in it. Drearily, he wiped his mouth with his elbow, trudged back over to them, and put his head in his hands. "I'm failing as a father and my kid isn't even born yet..."

"Would you like me to go in there with her?" Norah offered.

Sherlock scoffed. "Hilarious. You can barely walk on your own let alone stand for longer than five minutes."

"It's okay, thanks Norah." Said John, patting her knee.

Norah looked at John.

John looked at Norah.

Then they both looked up at Sherlock.

"…Absolutely not."


	46. Chapter 40 Pt 2

Ch. 40 Pt. 2

"Sherlock, hold my hand," Mary panted. Her forehead was decorated with beads of sweat, and doctors and nurses were crowded around the foot of her bed.

Sherlock on the other hand, was covered in scrubs from head to toe.

"Hand holding is in no way going to alleviate the pain in your-,"

"Sherlock, hold my BLOODY hand!" she snarled, snatching his hand from the bedside and constricting it like an anaconda. Sherlock swore he could hear his bones crack.

Sherlock had been in there for approximately six hours watching Mary squeeze her eyes shut and whimper as she pushed. He tried to come up with a way to take her mind off of the discomfort.

"I once had a case-,"

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"I'm trying to tell you a story."

"Oh…alright I suppose." She winced and sped up her breathing.

"I once had a case in which the killer asphyxiated the victim and then surgically removed his brain."

Doctors and nurses began to give Sherlock strange looks.

"Why?" Mary inquired between quick breaths.

"Big push, Mrs. Watson." The doctor instructed. Mary let out a grunt as she pushed. Sherlock spoke louder.

"When John and I discovered the murderer, he was trying to bring his Frankenstein cadaver to life by plugging it into an electric generator. We found several other bodies with missing parts in his hideaway."

"That's nice, Sherlock-, ARGHHH!" Mary cried out and squeezed Sherlock's hand even tighter.

Then, for a few moments, there was silence.

And then Ava's soft bleats filled the sound void.

Sherlock gasped, as he observed the small life form before him. It was so _small_. Its fingers were barely an inch long, and its head was smaller than a softball. He didn't know a person could be that small. He watched closely as the nurses cleaned it up and cut the umbilical chord, bewitched by the tiny human.

Mary had passed out and the nurses were cleaning her up while she rested. Before Sherlock could protest, the doctor pushed the little thing towards him and placed it into his arms. In a panicked instant, he gathered any information from his brain that he could about babies.

"_Hold the head and neck? Right?" _

He double checked that he was supporting the small creature.

_"It will have blue eyes. All babies of Caucasian descent begin life with blue eyes." _

He could not test this theory yet of course, since her little eyes were shut.

_Her._

He held the newborn up gently, to get a better look at her. Fascinating. Utterly fascinating.

"Happy birthday, Ava."

All of the sudden, John rushed in with the nurse that had gone to fetch him. He covered his mouth and stood frozen when he caught first sight of his daughter in Sherlock's arms, and all the nurses and doctors seemed to disappear around him. All he saw was Ava.

Saving him the trip, Sherlock approached him with the child and gently handed her over to him. This may have been the biggest smile he had ever seen John muster, and Sherlock could help smiling with him.

"Hey, nice to meet you Ava Charlotte," John murmured, allowing his daughter to wrap her tiny hand around his index finger.

"You went with Charlotte for the middle name did you?"

"Yeah, you upset that it's not Ava Sherlock?" He joked.

Sherlock grinned. "No. Not particularly. I'll just have to wait for the next Watson child to push for my name as a possibility."

"Slow down, I'm just getting used to the first one." He tenderly rocked Ava in his arms.

"John?" Mary said softly from the bed, having woken up from her brief slumber. Radiating pride, John walked past Sherlock to present his wife with their creation. Sherlock watched the touching family moment, then felt that it was his cue to go back to Norah in the waiting room. He took off the scrubs and was about to exit when John caught him.

"Sherlock?"

He turned. "Yes?"

Mary, tears rolling down her cheeks, blew a kiss to him. "Thank you."

Filled with an uncharacteristic amount of happiness, Sherlock winked at her and took his leave.


	47. Chapter 41

Ch. 41

"Ah, Sherlock. Right on time." Mycroft addressed his brother as he strolled into his luxurious office.

"Let's get this over with." He said, throwing his coat onto the hanger and plopping down into the chair before his brother.

"Nice to see you too," Mycroft sneered. He opened his desk drawer from which he removed a barely filled manila folder with a picture of James Brook paper-clipped to the front of it. But of course, Mycroft didn't know Moriarty's real name. Sherlock rather liked knowing something that his brother didn't for once.

"Shall we skip the niceties and get to business?" Sherlock asked, leaning back in his chair and ginning a sarcastic grin.

Ignoring his brother's insolence, Mycroft set his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. "I prefer to include the niceties. How's your _goldfish_?" he inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Oh please," muttered Sherlock, rolling his eyes. "If you think I'm going to discuss my relationship with you then you're sadly mistaken. You can get your gossip fix from the tabloids."

"No need for details, but let's discuss the fact that you're _in_ a relationship in the first place. A real one. How deliciously scandalous." Mycroft shook his shoulders, soaking in the fact that he had yet another thing to tease his little brother for.

"Like when you eat cupcakes and cheat on your miserable diet?"

Mycroft wasn't smiling all of the sudden. "Don't be smart, Sherlock."

"Then _don't. Pry._ I'm sure mother would be more than happy to divulge juicy details about Norah and I to you."

"Ah yes, Norah. The Professor's daughter. Feeling any guilt? You know, since you nearly got her killed? I'm sure her father would love that."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "More that I care to disclose."

"Moriarty really seems to like her, doesn't he?"

"No, he likes to infuriate me. Norah is merely the vessel."

"Well, you should keep a close eye on her. Goldfish aren't known for their longevity."

Sherlock slammed his fist on the desk.

"I'm not here to postulate about whether or not I can protect Norah. I'm here to talk about Moriarty. If we're not going to do that, I'll gladly take my leave."

"You know I can't incarcerate him without a trial, Sherlock," said Mycroft, changing the subject.

Sherlock glared at him across the oaken desk. "You can, and you will." Mycroft ran the entire British government, he could do whatever he wanted.

Aggravated that his petulant little brother thought that he was going to take orders from him, Mycroft rubbed his temples. "He's too well-known now, the press will have a frenzy if we don't give him a fair trial and I will look like a Tyrant."

"Hasn't stopped you before."

"Hush. We're just going to have to lock him up fair an square."

As an alternative to flipping the desk over, Sherlock got up out of his chair and began pacing. "Because that worked SO well the first time."

"You must think that I get some sort of disgusting pleasure from having Moriarty out and about on a crime rampage. Well, I don't. He's making me look like a complete fool. I want him behind bars just as badly as you do, Sherlock. Don't forget that."

"Then humor me and lock him up without the opinion of an easily swayed jury!"

"I can assure you, the jury will be perfectly honest this time. We are establishing a polygraph for each jury member before they are authorized to enter the courtroom."

"Not good enough."

"You haven't given me one ounce of your intelligence on this man. What legal action would you have me take?"

"…Giving me license to kill?"

"Very funny. If we want some extra assurance in court, we're going to need a solid witness against Moriarty. Other than yourself."

"Oh, splendid idea," squealed Sherlock sarcastically. "I'm certain that one of his snipers would be happy to take the stand against him."

"You spent the better part of two years eradicating his network, go ahead. Pick someone."

Sherlock stopped pacing and focused his mind. Who had worked for Moriarty in the past, and would not be afraid to speak out against him? Someone who was independent of him, could protect themselves…

Oh.

Mycroft inferred what Sherlock was thinking, and chuckled.

"That'll be interesting. Norah won't mind, will she?"


	48. Chapter 42

Ch. 42

"You're late," Norah teased Sherlock as he came in the door of the Watsons' town home. She was over making dinner for John and Mary, since they were exhausted with a new baby and all.

"I took the tube. I wasn't aware that I had to be here at a specific time." He wiped his shoes off on the entrance mat, approached Mary who was sitting with her head in her hand on the couch, and kissed her on the cheek. She looked weary, from a week of sleepless nights. John stood by the kitchen with Norah, rocking the tiny human in his arms. The doctor looked equally as tired as his wife.

Sherlock went over to observe the tiny human. It was sleeping.

"You love my kid, admit it." He whispered. Sherlock smiled at his friend.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do I get a hello?" Norah asked, waving her stew ladle in his direction. He came into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek, as was appropriate. He was still getting used to the whole boyfriend thing.

"You're a doll for cooking for us," Mary said. She sounded drained.

"It's really no trouble," Norah assured her, serving up stew into a few bowls. "I'll babysit too if you'd like!"

"Good, because I won't be doing any of that." Sherlock took one of the bowls off the counter and started without them.

"Yes you will. I need a picture of you with a baby harness strapped to you for the blog."

Norah spit out her water. In the sink, luckily. "I would pay money to see that."

"Not gonna happen."

John put the Ava upstairs in her crib (with the monitor on) and they sat down to eat. Sherlock's phone went off a few minutes into the meal.

"…I need to go back to Baker street." He got up and swung his coat around himself.

"What? We've just started eating!" Mary protested.

"Got a client?" John asked.

"Of sorts. I'll leave the door unlocked," he said to Norah, before strutting out the front door.

John furrowed his brow. "Odd. He hasn't taken a client in a while." He took a bite of stew.

"No, he hasn't," Norah said, squinting. Sherlock had looked at his text message under the table rather than bringing the phone up to his face like he normally. He was up to something.

…

The ticking of the clock on his mantle piece seemed to smash against his eardrum. Sherlock sat in his chair, hands placed under his chin, awaiting the arrival of his "client".

Twenty minutes passed. Twenty-two. The flat was silent aside from the clock and Sherlock's pounding heart.

Thirty eight minutes.

Norah came home and found him like this in his chair. "Where's your client?" She asked as she removed her coat.

"On their way."

"They aren't here yet?"

"Obviously not." He stared straight ahead at the doorway.

"…Alright then, I'm going to put on some sweats." Feeling like her presence was unwelcome, Norah walked sassily to Sherlock's bedroom. He heard the door open, the sound of Norah's satchel dropping on the floor, the door slam shut, and her feet shuffling back to the living room.

"Un-FUCKING-believable." She crossed her arms and rested all of her weight on one leg. Oh no. The stance. She burned his skin with her glare.

He wrinkled his brow. "Sorry, what have I done this time?"

"You know Sherlock you're REALLY something. You tell me all your lovey-dovey bollox just for me to find _a naked woman on your bed_!"

Sherlock chuckled and stood up. Typical. "That would be my client."

"Oh, so you've resorted to prostitution now, is that it?"

"Use your deduction. Does it look like I knew she was there before you just told me?" He held his hands up defensively.

"I-…well…," Norah furiously looked him over. He was right, his body language and tone suggested no guilt.

"I'll explain, come with me." He headed for the bedroom.

"Sherlock Holmes If you're cheating on me-,"

"Oh please, this is _me_ we're talking about. One relationship is plenty for me to handle."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Did it work?"

"NO."

Sherlock smirked and opened the door. "You're late."

(***I have a new one shot if you're interested in reading! s/10581840/1/Lady-Hooper-s-Dress)


	49. Chapter 43

Ch. 43

"Ello Sherlock, how about that dinner?" The Woman asked. Her voice seemed to slither into their ears like a tactile snake.

"I see you still have something against using the front door," joked Sherlock. He acted as if everything was fine and dandy. Norah pushed in front of him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Depends, who's askin'?"

"His _girlfriend."_

Irene's doe eyes widened. "Girlfriend? I didn't think the great Sherlock Holmes did girlfriends."

Sherlock stepped between Norah and the bed. "Norah Sinclair, this is-,"

"Irene Adler, so I've gathered." Norah hissed. "Could you kindly put some clothes on?" she implored, covering Irene's body from view with her hand.

"Why?" asked Irene, a grin sliding across her perfectly angular features. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact!"

"Irene." Sherlock said flatly. Scoffing, The Woman glided up off of the bed and took Sherlock's bathrobe off of his chair, slipping it on. She turned back around.

"This better for you sweetheart?" She winked.

"Remind me why she's here again?" Norah grumbled.

"She's our witness for the prosecution of James Brook."

"You're joking, right? Seriously, is this a joke?"

"Nobody's laughing darling," quipped Irene, coming alongside Sherlock and slithering her hand up his shoulder.

Norah smiled, but not out of happiness. It was the sort of smile that only happens when something is so incredibly infuriating that one's emotions break.

"I'm going to ask you again. _Why_ did you feel the need to show up unannounced and unclothed on his bed?"

"Oh, poor dear, he didn't tell you?"

"Irene," Sherlock urged, trying to stop her. He didn't like where this was going, and Norah was going to like it even less.

"…Tell me what?"

"Pakistan. Karachi? Ring any bells?"

"Sherlock, what's she talking about?"

"Irene, _don't_."

"No, please, by all means. Tell me. I'm curious," Norah spat with a touch of sarcasm, realizing that he was hiding something from her. She folded her arms.

"Well, the last time I saw your boyfriend here, he saved my neck from a terrorist group and I gave him a 'special thank you' later on. On the house."

"That was before her!" Sherlock said through gritted teeth, motioning to Norah.

Norah backed away, starting to realize what was going on. Sherlock just watched the anger dissolve into dejection in her green eyes.

"You didn't tell me _that_ part of the whole story," she muttered solemnly, thinking back to their sleepless night at the inn in Dublin.

"You wouldn't have wanted to hear that part."

"Oh, so you just left out everything that I 'wouldn't have wanted' to hear? What else did you skim over?"

"Nothing else!"

"I can see that you're having a domestic, so I'll just make myself a cuppa in the mean time." The Woman slid her hand down Sherlock's arm and strode past Norah to the kitchen, sporting a satisfied smirk.

Sherlock tried to grasp Norah's shoulders, but she jolted backwards. "…Norah, I understand why you're upset-,"

"No Sherlock, you can't possibly understand why I'm upset. Because I told you everything, my entire story, and you obviously left some bits out." She smacked her palms against her temples.

"What on earth was I supposed to say? 'And by the way, after I saved her life, we stole away to a seaside hotel and shagged'?!"

"No, you _weren't_ supposed to tell me that nothing ever happened between the two of you, because now you've given me a reason not to trust you! Damnit, I can't believe I didn't see through that one. "

"Anyone else want tea?" Irene called from the kitchen. Norah bit her bottom lip so hard that it began to bleed.

"Is she _staying_ here?"

"I have to protect her until the trial."

"No. Get Mycroft to do it."

"You honestly think something is going to happen between myself and Irene? Really?"

Norah mockingly put her index finger to her chin. "Let's see, she's a lusty dominatrix who you bonked and who used to have your name as her phone passcode. Don't know…"

"You're acting like a jealous child."

Norah pointed at him threateningly, but bit her tongue. Composing herself, she put her hands back at her sides. She looked up at him, sadly. "Fine, Sherlock. You're right. The case is more important." She walked to his bed and gathered her pajamas from her side, then got her toothbrush from his bathroom. "Prove my suspicions wrong," She said emotionlessly, leaving his room. She would sleep in her own bed tonight. Sherlock heaved a heavy hearted sigh.

"Night dearie," sneered Irene as Norah walked briskly past her through the kitchen.

Norah stopped, adjusted her posture, then prowled toward The Woman until she was an inch away from her face.

"If you speak to me condescendingly one more time, I'll knock that slimy red smile right off your face. You're in _my_ territory." And she was never more serious.

"Oo," Irene trilled, looking Norah up and down and smacking her red lips. "That a promise?"

_"Just try me." _Having made her point, Norah stormed upstairs to her bedroom.


	50. Chapter 44

Ch. 44

Seeing that the coast was clear, Sherlock emerged from his room. He had never seen Norah so intense in his life.

"I like her, she's fiery."

"Don't antagonize her, Irene." He sat across from the dominatrix.

"It's delightfully fun, though."

"I mean it." He commanded, looking her straight in the eyes.

"What, is she important to you? I didn't think you were into that sort of thing," she commented, sipping her tea.

"I wasn't."

"What changed your mind then?"

"…She's different."

"Looks pretty average to me. What makes her so special?"

"I'm not discussing this with you," he jeered, shaking his head at her. "You're here for the case, not to infuriate my significant other."

Irene smirked. "You know, I'm different too, Sherlock."

Sherlock got up from his seat. "Never mind, we can discuss the case tomorrow," he said, trying to change the subject. "You can have my bed, I'll take the couch."

"I was going to take the bed whether you gave me permission or not."

"You're quite the house guest."

"Your girlfriend is quite the host." She finished off her tea and left the mug on the counter, letting her hair down and taking the bathrobe off as she went into Sherlock's room and closed the door.

…

Norah laid in bed above the covers, curled up in a ball. Though she could walk and move about fairly normally now, her abdomen still became very sore from the day's activities when she got into bed at night. The pain contributed to her silent rage.

When she heard her door creak open, she remained still.

"May I?" a husky voice murmured. She looked over her shoulder at Sherlock, who was asking permission to sit on her bed.

"…I suppose."

He sat down, but did not touch her. He knew better.

"Are you brooding because I lied to you?"

"You're the detective. Use your deduction," she said, monotonously.

"You know I can't do that with you." He leaned back so that he was resting against the headboard. "We're just going to have to talk about it like normal couples do."

"Don't worry about it. It's stupid."

"Norah, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Really I didn't think it mattered, and then suddenly it did once she showed up...well, exposed in my bed."

Norah turned to face him, not bothering to shield her glassy eyes.

"Do you understand how disheartening it is to suddenly learn that your boyfriend slept with a woman that looks like _that_, and then came crawling to you?"

Ah, so that's what this was about.

"Oh, I see why you're upset." He tried to prevent himself from smiling. If she saw him and thought that he wasn't taking her seriously, she might have snapped.

"How would you feel if you found out that I slept with...I don't know…Tom Hiddleston?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Forget I said anything." She turned back around.

Wait, was she serious?

"You honestly feel inadequate? Really?" Sherlock couldn't wrap his mind around it. Norah was perfectly lovely to him, physically and especially mentally.

"You were right, I'm being childish. Just drop it."

Sherlock chuckled.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm not!" She sat up to look at him face-to-face. "She's got these jaunt cheekbones and big red lips and a jawline so sharp that I'm sure I would cut my hand on it if I actually _did_ hit her, and her proportions are just right and-,"

"Norah, stop."

"AND if THAT wasn't bad enough, she's a bloody BDSM courtesan so the sex was probably the best of you life-,"

"Norah."

"And then there's mousy me, and I work in a stupid lab, and you probably find me utterly boring-,"

Sherlock had grabbed her lips between his two fingers to stop her rambling.

"As I said, you're being ridiculous."

"You may think so, but-,"

"I haven't finished. What makes you think I would choose her?"

"…I thought I just gave you a fairly comprehensive list."

"I don't care about any of that."

"If you say 'I care about what's inside' I will end you."

"No but honestly, after all we've been through you think I would select a femme fatal with a jawline over you, right now, curled up next to me?" He was legitimately amazed and puzzled.

"…Any other man would."

"Then you made the mistake of thinking me ordinary."

"It's not just the way she looks. She's just like you. You both think the same way. You're equals."

"I don't want someone who's just like me. I thought we had established that I didn't like myself." He pushed her hair out of her face. "I want somebody who's everything good that I can't be."

Norah's lower lip quivered as she looked up into his face. "Damnit Sherlock, I'm trying to be mad at you and you're making it very difficult."

"Right. Sorry." He smirked. "I could do insults if you'd like?"

She hit his arm. "No need for that, thanks."

"…That night with Irene didn't mean anything. It was purely…physical."

"…I believe you."

"And, for the record, do you want to know what the 'best sex of my life' was?"

"...What?"

"That first time with you."

"That's _total _bullshit, we both know that was awful," she laughed, covering her face with her pillow.

He kissed her forehead.

"Stay up here tonight. My tummy hurts."

"She's in my bed, so I suppose this is better than the couch anyway."

"SHE'S IN YOUR-,"

"Norah."

"Sorry. Sorry. Urrgh she irks me so."

"She does it on purpose."

They laid down together.

"I'm still angry with you, and you're still going to have to earn my trust back, but I love you."

"Yep."

"Sherlock."

"...Love you too." The words, once sour in his mouth, were beginning to taste more familiar and natural to him.

First big fight, check.


	51. Chapter 45

Ch. 45

The next week in 221B was tense, to say the least. Norah tried to avoid Irene as much as possible, but The Woman seemed to always find ways to provoke her new flat mate. For instance, one morning she left her lacy lingerie on the floor in the middle of the living room. Another evening, Norah found a riding crop on the kitchen counter.

Sherlock and Irene had lengthy conversations about the case, but Sherlock knew that she was hiding something big about her former employer. He tried to no avail to get the information out of her (or deduce it out of her.) If he knew Irene like he thought he did, she was going to want something in exchange for her insider information. He just had to figure out what would be reasonable compensation.

John called Norah one night about a week after Irene had arrived.

"Hey, I called Sherlock but he didn't pick up. Is everything ok? We haven't heard from either of you."

"Oh, yeah, he's with Mycroft. They're seeing about a trial. They have to catch Brook first of course…"

"That's good I suppose."

"…And he's with Irene Adler. She's our witness."

"…"

"…John?"

"…"

"…Seriously has the call dropped?"

"Er, no, sorry, I just…I thought she was dead?"

"Unfortunately, no." She grumbled. "We really need to stop associating with people who fake their deaths, don't we?"

"Yeah I came to that conclusion a while ago. Is…uh…how is she then?"

"Absolutely maddening."

"She's flirting with Sherlock, I take it?"

"She showed up naked in his bedroom."

"Oh god…I'm sorry Norah. She tends to do that…"

"Did _you_ know they slept together?"

"THEY WHAT?! WHEN?!"

"Pakistan I guess?"

"When was Sherlock in-…OH, that's why she's alive."

"You see my dilemma."

"And you're all currently living under the same roof?"

"Go ahead and place a bet on who's going to be the first to die."

"Christ."

"Yep. How's the baby?"

"Fine, she's great. We're doing great...I just…erm…aren't you worried?"

"Terribly. Sherlock assured me I could trust him, but it's not really him I'm worried about."

"Norah, I say this with no intention of causing trouble or making things worse, but Irene Adler is like…Sherlock's kryptonite. And she's smart, she knows how to get what she wants."

"…His kryptonite?" Norah rather liked to think that _she_ was his kryptonite.

"It's totally toxic. She made him miserable with her teasing a few years ago."

"John, what should I do?"

"…You're just going to have to stand your ground, I suppose. In a way that you won't get on her bad side. Don't do that."

"…Stand my ground. Right…"

Then an idea formed.

…

When Sherlock and Irene arrived home from meeting with Mycroft, Norah had dinner laid out in the kitchen. There was even a plate for Irene.

"Thought you guys might be hungry."

"…That's cute," The Woman said, taking a single bite but not sitting. "But I gotta go."

"Go? Where are you going?" asked Sherlock, hesitating to sit down to his own meal.

"I've got a client. You don't expect me to stop my career for your trial, do you?"

"You can't leave, I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need babysitting. I'm here on my own terms. So I can come and go on my own terms." She went to the bedroom and grabbed a black bag and her riding crop. "I'll be back in the morning. You can start to worry if I'm not," She said, walking towards to door. "Thanks for dinner!" She called as she left.

Sherlock peered at the three plates on the island. "…You made her dinner."

"I did." She said, cheerily.

"…Is it poisoned?"

"No. I'm trying to be nice."

"…Why?"

"Because I don't thrive in living situations where there is tension, as you have witnessed." She sat down and began eating.

"…Alright." Shifty eyed, Sherlock finished his dinner.

Later on that evening, Norah disappeared up to her room. She had probably gone to bed, since she was returning to work in the morning. Sherlock decided to leave her be and just go to sleep in his own bed for once this week.

He was brushing his teeth in his bathroom when Norah appeared in the doorway, wearing undergarments that Sherlock had never seen her in before. A thin, black lace boudoir bra, and matching lacy boy short panties attached to tights suspenders. His silk bathrobe was draped loosely over her torso and her hair was wild. Sherlock could make out her healing scar on her abdomen.

The toothbrush fell out of his mouth and hand.

"…What's the occasion?" He asked, mouth full of toothpaste foam. He was worried that he had missed a holiday or something.

"I have to have an occasion to dress up for you?" Norah asked in a low voice.

"No, but you've never worn-,"

"I did a bit of shopping while you were out." She slipped out of the bathrobe. "You like it?"

Sherlock gulped. She looked so ravishing and he loved how she teased him but…

"Wait a minute. I know what's going on." He said, scrunching his eyebrows together. He bent down to the sink and rinsed his mouth out.

Norah fiddled with her hair and played dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't need any of this." He waved his hand and motioned to her getup.

"…I thought you'd like it."

"It actually very counterproductive. Just makes it harder to take off of you. I don't even know what to do about those…leg thingies."

"I'll show you," she whispered seductively, pulling him towards herself.

He stopped her. "Norah."

"…Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's just that…this is unnecessary."

"…I just thought maybe I needed to try a bit harder, since Irene…"

"You have me enraptured when you're not even trying. You don't _have_ to try. You're ridiculous." He shook his head condescendingly.

Norah leaned her head against his chest.

"Well I spent way too much money on all of this, so damnit, we're going to get some use out of it." She pulled him out of the bathroom.

"Wait, wait wait wait you were shot three weeks ago."

"I know, I feel great now!"

"You're going to be sore tomorrow for work."

"I'll worry about that tomorrow at work." She pushed him into his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

...

Sore was an understatement. Norah was swivel-chair ridden all next day at work.


	52. Chapter 46

Ch. 46

The plan was flawless. Sherlock was convinced that nothing would go awry. He had accounted for every possible mishap and found a way to counter it.

Today was the day that the consulting detective played cat, and the consulting criminal played mouse.

Today was the end of the game for James Brook.

Today was the day that Sherlock Holmes ensnared Moriarty so that he could put him back in a padded cell for the rest of his miserable life.

The outlining process was tedious; anytime Sherlock was forced to work with Mycroft was a pain in the rear. Ever sensitive, his brother had suggested to use Norah as bait which earned him quite the scolding from Sherlock. There would be no more close calls with Norah, so he hadn't involved her in the planning at all.

Associating with Irene was quite distracting as well. Sherlock still wasn't sure that they could trust her, and her incessant pursuing of him was unsettling. He hated the way it made Norah look at herself in the mirror.

For a week and a half the three of them schemed and bickered, and now the plan was in motion. Sherlock itched to see the look of surprise on Brook's face when he caught the slimy bastard.

One of the only major countries in Europe that Moriarty hadn't spun his spider web into properly was France, Irene revealed. Luckily, her web was _très grande_ in the region, and her clientele were _très important. _She had some fairly incriminating photos and videos of the French ambassador to England, Jean-Yves Bernard. Photos that would be valuable to Moriarty. She knew Bernard, (rather, she knew what he liked,) and she knew that if someone were to pressure him with that evidence, he would comply with their every wish. He had a wife and three children who he did not want to know about The Woman and her talent with a rope.

Sherlock was of course banking on the fact that James Brook knew nothing about his collaboration with The Woman. She was quite elusive.

The only frustrating part of the plan was that he himself could not attend to watch it unfurl. James Brook had a frightening sixth sense for when his favorite adversary was in his perimeter, so the detective was forced to sit by himself in his living room and stare at the ceiling until he received word from Mycroft or Lestrade.

Norah came (hobbled) home from work and found him in his usual spot on his chair.

"…You been like that all day?"

"Pretty much."

"…Have you eaten?"

"Nope."

"Sherlock," She patronized, walking slowly and hunched over to the kitchen to fix him something.

He smirked to himself. "Told you I was going to make you sore."

Smugly, she grabbed some crisps from the cabinet and threw the bag across the room at him. "Don't make me regret having sex with you. What are you thinking about today, anyway?"

"How in a matter of minutes I'll have gotten James Brook arrested."

Norah turned from pouring herself a glass of milk and ogled at him.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Mycroft, Irene and I constructed a plan this week to get him arrested and in for a trial. I should be getting a call in a few minutes. "

She set down the milk carton.

"...Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because if I had told you, you would have wanted to get involved. I'm not involving you in this case anymore," he stated unemotionally.

"I don't remember agreeing to that," Norah remarked, peeved. She stuck the milk back in the refrigerator and slammed it shut.

"This one is not a two way decision."

There was a momentary pause due to Norah's disbelief. Her fingers curled around the ledge of the island like claws.

"So now Irene's like your sidekick, is that it?"

"What? No, Norah. You're being daft and you're missing the point." He rolled his eyes.

"I saw that. Don't roll your eyes at me."

Sherlock grit his teeth and flared his nostrils. He stood up.

"In case you've forgotten, you nearly died. I'm not just going to let you spring back into crime-solving action after that."

"I can take care of myself."

"You can barely walk!" He pointed at her, then began running his hands through his hair nervously.

"I started this case with you and I'm going to finish it with-,"

"No, you're not." He forbid. "I'm not going through that again."

"Sherlock, it's over, I'm fine now-,"

"_You stubborn girl, you didn't see what it did to me!"_

His sudden eruption startled Norah. She stopped arguing.

"I was huddled in the corner of a bathroom sniveling like a petulant infant, ready for my ribs to break all at once from the compression I felt in my chest!" Sherlock was like a tornado, howling through the kitchen and slowly but surely making his way to Norah. His upper lip twitched as he ranted. "I told myself that if I lost you that day, I might die on the spot! When the repulsive words reached my ears that you had died on the table, my _muscles literally stopped working_! I have never felt so _helpless_ in my life!" When he finished shouting he looked down at himself, at his trembling hands, and clenched them into fists. "I didn't used to feel. I didn't used to weep. I didn't used to care."

_"What have you done to me?"_

Norah didn't know what to say. He had backed her into the corner of the kitchen and the counter was digging in to her tailbone. Never in her life had she been _terrified_ of Sherlock. She cried silently, expecting a blow to the head or something of that sort.

Sherlock's rage disappeared when he finally noticed that he had made her cry. He staggered backwards and caught himself on the island.

"Oh my God," he breathed, snapping back to his normal self. "Norah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-,"

_"Save it,"_ she sputtered. As swift as she could with the amount of pain she was experiencing, Norah ran out the kitchen, grabbed her coat, and fled 221b as fast as she possibly could.

Sherlock remained where Norah left him, panting, distraught that he had let any of that come out of his mouth. What the hell had just come over him? None of that had _ever_ crossed his mind before now. It just sort of came out without warning. He wasn't even the one who had been shot, how selfish of him to play the victim. He was utterly ashamed.

Suddenly, his mobile vibrated in his pocket.

_Come down to the station. We've got him._

_ -MH_


	53. Chapter 47

Ch. 47

Sherlock stormed down to the station, ready to rip James Brook a new one. He had quite a bit of anger to take out on him.

"There he is! Man of the hour!" the vile man jeered as he saw Sherlock coming into the interrogation room. Without an ounce of hesitation, Sherlock flung James off the chair and against the wall, holding him by his throat.

"It would be so easy to end you right now. I would be doing so many people a favor if I just squeezed a bit harder for a bit longer."

James just laughed wheezily, strained from Sherlock's deathgrip.

"Someone's a little bitter that I shot his girlfriend," he chuckled. Sherlock bared his teeth and was ready to snap Brook's neck when Lestrade and a few other inspectors burst in and ripped him off of his prey.

"DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID INTERROGATION AND NOT EXECUTION?!" Lestrade hollered in his ear.

"Wouldn't it just be more convenient to skip to the execution part?" Sherlock bellowed darkly.

"Sorry Sherly," Brook said, sitting down and swiveling his head. "You can't just do away with me like you did with Magnussenn." He smirked.

"Donovan, sit in here and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Lestrade sighed, pointing to Sherlock before lumbering out.

Sergeant Sally Donovan scoffed. "Why do _I_ have to stay with the freak?!"

"Just do it!" With that, he slammed the door.

"Don't I uh…get a phone call or something?"

"No." Sergeant Donovan barked.

"Okay, never mind. You know, I gotta hand it to you Sherlock, that was pretty impressive. I didn't even know Ms. Adler was back in town."

"Public meeting area. Simple photo transaction from an business partner. Perfect for a police ambush."

"Guess I under-estimated you."

"Guess you did."

Brook smiled at his opponent.

"I think, in another life, we could have been good friends, Sherlock."

"Highly doubt it."

"Oh my God, you two can take the flirting outside," Sally grumbled.

James laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the tabletop like a school boy. "So, what can I do for you?"

"It would make things a great deal easier if you just confessed to your terrorism now so that I don't have to wring it from your neck."

"Freak," Sally reprimanded.

James chuckled. "Okay," he said. "I did it. I orchestrated the destruction of the London Bridge and I kidnapped and premeditated the murder of those seven children in the mine."

Sherlock squinted. Something was wrong. He was being too compliant.

"Got what we needed," Sally said. "Let's go." She opened the door for Sherlock to leave.

Sherlock furiously tried to deduce something. Why was he playing along? What did he have planned?

Nothing. Sherlock stood up without breaking eye contact with James and exited.

"Good work, Sherlock," Mycroft said, patting his sibling's back when he came out of the interrogation room. "It seems you've bested Jim Moriarty.

"James Brook."

"…Pardon?"

"His real name is James Brook. There. I've told you. You can search him when you get home." Sherlock sulked onward while Mycroft watched him.

"What's gotten into you? You've never given up on tormenting me so easily."

"Nothing. Keep and eye on him, Mycroft. He's being too cooperative."

"Where are you going?"

"I've got business to attend to at home."

…

Just as he had suspected she would, Irene beat Sherlock Home to Baker Street. She was sitting in his chair with her legs swung over the arm.

"Nice work, Mr. Holmes."

"I didn't do anything, I just sat here all day. It's you that should be congratulated. Fine job." He peeked in the kitchen, then in his bedroom. "Erm, did Norah come home by chance?"

"I thought she was with you?"

"No." He flopped onto the couch.

"…You two are having issues?"

"I'm not talking about this with you."

"I could cheer you up."

"You know, this is part of the reason Norah and are having issues, correct?"

"Fine, I'll be in your room if you change your mind. Have a delightful time on the couch tonight." She got up off his seat and sauntered into his bedroom.

Sherlock heaved a sigh. This was supposed to be the greatest day, and it ended up being awful. He felt horrible about what he said to Norah, he apparently had not fooled James Brook as well as he thought he had, and Irene's seduction attempts were not letting up. Sherlock just wanted everything to go away.

Sherlock eyed the sixth book on the top shelf of his bookcase in the corner of the living room wantonly.

He just wanted to turn his brain off.

No. Not tonight. He needed to anticipate Brook's next move. Besides, Norah would absolutely kill him, if she ever came home tonight. He phoned John.

"Hello?" the doctor was whispering on the other line.

"Ava asleep?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," he continued to speak softly. "What's up? Did you catch James Brook?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm calling. Is Norah with you?"

"No, we haven't seen her. Why? What'd you do?"

"Why do you always assume it's my fault?!"

"Because it usually is. Is it?"

"Yes, but...ugh."

"I won't pry. If she stops by I'll tell her you called."

"Thanks."

He hung up, staring at the bookshelf again.

No. better grab some nicotine patches instead.


	54. Chapter 48

Ch. 48

Norah had spent the evening killing time at Stella's with a bad cup of coffee and a book in her hands, shielding her face with the cover and pages. In actuality, she had been reading the same paragraph over and over again. When Stella's closed, she wandered the London streets by herself against her better judgement. Perhaps some thug would mug her or kidnap her or something, then Sherlock would be sorry.

She came back to Baker street quite late and quite alright. She went straight up to her room rather than checking in with Sherlock. Unenergetically, she undressed and was going to put pajamas on until she realized that her pajamas were Sherlock's clothes. She opted for her own t-shirt and underpants instead.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Then, just as she suspected, Norah heard her doorknob turn. Of course Sherlock was awake.

"I'm not ready to talk to you." She turned away from the door and squeezed her eyes shut.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he just crawled into her bed and put his arm around her. She tried to scoot away but he held her down.

"I'm serious. Go away." Norah still declined to look at him. Maybe if she kept her eyes shut long enough, he would think she had fallen asleep and leave.

Sherlock didn't budge. In fact, rather than leaving, Norah felt him turn her over forcefully and press his lips to hers.

He tasted different.

Norah refused to reciprocate. She locked her limbs like a toy soldier. Still, Sherlock held her down, kissing her hungrily. When he pulled away, Norah still kept her eyes shut.

She took a deep breath, then had a moment of panic. "…Why do you smell like her?" she asked apprehensively. He smelled like her. He smelled like Irene.

"Maybe that's because I _am _her."

Norah's eyelids flew open like window shutters as she shoved The Woman off of her.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Norah flew backwards to the corner of the bed, alarmed.

"…You've never been with a woman before, have you?" Irene asked, looking at her as if she were a child that had never ridden a bike. The Woman was wearing one of her many combinations of lingerie, a corset, and stilettos.

"No! Well I may have drunkenly kissed one or two, but…um…" Norah was in such shock that she could barely come up with things to say. "I don't like…I'm not…"

"You don't have to be gay to sleep with someone of the same sex," Irene said, crawling towards her.

"No! No." Norah held her hands up in defense. "I'm not doing this, _we're_ not doing this."

"I won't tell Sherlock. Unless you think he might want to come join."

"Ms. Adler- Irene," Norah really didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure whether she was scared or uncomfortable or both.

"Look, how are you ever going to know what you like if you haven't tried everything?"

"I…um…"

"Can't argue with that logic, can you?" She cooed, taking Norah's chin in her red manicured fingertips and looking her face over. "You're so _cute_, I just want to devour you like a piece of cake…"

"I thought you didn't like me?"

Irene kneeled before Norah, who was frozen on the corner of the comforter. "I never said that. Sherlock said you were different. Special. Show me why. Prove him right."

Irene's lips trapped Norah's once again, but this time she slipped her tongue into her mouth and gripped her cheeks in her hands. Norah kept her eyes open, afraid to defy The Woman. What if she had brought her riding crop? Besides, there was actually something mesmerizing about her…

Irene slipped her hand under Norah's t-shirt, which finally prompted her to vault off of the bed.

"No. Not interested. Sorry." She held her hands out to guard herself. "As dysfunctional as we are, I love Sherlock and I only…you know…with him."

The Woman pursed her lips. She was used to getting her way, and when she didn't, she used force. "Fine," she spat. "Your loss. Would've been the best night of your life."

Norah stayed in her fight or flight stance as Irene blustered out of her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She contemplated asking Sherlock to come up and stay with her, but her pride urged her not to.

There was no way that she was getting any sleep tonight.


	55. Chapter 49

Ch. 49

When Norah came down for breakfast early the next morning, she found Sherlock curled up on the couch, asleep. She pined to wake him up with kisses all over his face in order to wash the last bit of Irene out of her mouth, but then she remembered that she was mad at him. She really wasn't good at this whole 'staying angry with him' thing.

She stopped when she saw Irene sitting in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal.

"Morning sunshine," she mused, face stuck in her mobile. She acted as though last night had never happened.

Norah didn't say anything, she just slinked over to the stove and put the kettle on.

"Relax," Irene said. "It's not like I'm going to force myself on you. But you know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Don't get your hopes up," said Norah, not making eye contact with her.

"Get her hopes up about what?" Sherlock asked, suddenly appearing in the kitchen.

Norah turned off the kettle, not bothering to finish making herself tea. "Nothing. I have to go to work," she said, walking past Sherlock to grab her coat and leave the flat.

"Ooo," said Irene, swirling her spoon around her bowl. "You must be in REALLY big trouble."

Sherlock sighed. "Indeed." He went to the stove and turned the kettle back on.

"So, what'd you do?"

"I thought I made it very clear that I was not going to talk about my relationship with you."

"It's the least you can do since I had to cheer up your cupcake last night."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at Irene's pet name for Norah. "What do you mean 'cheer up'?"

"Oh, you know, some chit chat, some snogging-,"

"I beg your pardon?" he demanded, spinning around to face her and make sure that he had heard her correctly.

"It's not my fault you can't hold on to your woman."

He stared at Irene, silently ogling. And he thought that _he_ was the one who had to be careful about her feminine wiles. He didn't even know Norah was into that sort of thing…

"Relax. She kicked me out. Didn't want it."

"Yes…right…"

"How was that mental image you just thought up?"

"Shut up. And for the hundredth time, leave Norah alone."

"Am I making you jealous, Sherlock?"

"I don't experience jealousy."

"You didn't used to experience affection, either."

"For God sake, Irene. You've probably traumatized the poor girl."

"I did. It was cute."

_"Irene!"_

The tea kettle began to scream, adding a soundtrack to The Woman's chuckling. Sherlock flipped the stove off with great force and broodingly poured himself a mug of boiling water.

"I never promised that I was going to be a pleasant flat mate."

"You most certainly did not." He flicked a teabag into his mug.

"Well, I'll be out of here soon enough. When's my day in court?"

"Friday."

"That fast? You don't waste time, do you?"

"Mycroft wanted this done quickly. Makes for too much bad press."

"Well, I'll have to find something to wear."

"Do be mindful that this will be a courtroom, so wearing nothing does not count as wearing something."

"It does when you've slept with the judge."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"


	56. Chapter 50

Ch. 50

Friday arrived far sooner than Sherlock had anticipated, mainly because he had spent all of his time waiting around for it, since he and Norah weren't talking much. She had been leaving for the hospital earlier and going straight up to her room when she arrived home. She was giving him "space," as she called it.

On the morning of Friday, April eleventh, Sherlock dressed in a newly ironed white shirt (courtesy of Mrs. Hudson,) and a freshly dry cleaned jacket and slacks. He laced up his best dress shoes and briskly exited 221B Baker street. Irene had gotten a head start and left several minutes before himself for The Old Bailey.

The courthouse was overrun with news teams and press, naturally. Sherlock pushed past the reporters and photographers to get to John, who was hiding inside.

"Ah, good timing. They're about to start," John said, getting up to greet his friend when he saw him. "…Where's Norah?"

"She'll be here soon enough. Shall we?" He asked, beginning to pace to the courtroom.

"You guys…okay?"

"Not really."

"Sorry 'bout that. It'll work itself out once you're done with this bloody case. Finally."

"Yes," Sherlock muttered. He stopped walking suddenly, realizing that this was going to be the last of the Jim Moriarty case. He had devoted several years of his life and livelihood to this man and his antics, and it was going to be over in a matter of hours. He had done it. He had beat his arch nemesis. Sherlock was just going to have to wait for the next criminal mastermind to come along and give him a run for his money.

John had noticed that he was walking ahead by himself and turned around, furrowing his brow. "Sherlock, is everything alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered, grinning excitedly. "Everything is brilliant."

The courtroom was filled to the brim with nosey reporters and other random onlookers in need of some drama. John had to stand in the back of the room while Sherlock took his place in the front row of seats. He did a quick scan of the jury box, checking that none of them were secreting abnormal amounts of perspiration or demonstrating any nervous habits. He would not have another blackmail-induced jury decision.

They all seemed perfectly boring, just as Sherlock had hoped. He turned back around whilst removing his coat to see if he had missed Norah coming in, but she wasn't there. His phone vibrated.

_Can't make it. Loads of work. Good luck._

_ -NS_

Sherlock's heart sank. He felt like a little boy who's parents didn't come see him in the school play.

He had mixed feelings about Norah's no-show; on one hand, he didn't want her within a hundred yards of James Brook. On the other, she would be missing his triumph. Sherlock wanted Norah to see his success. He wanted to show her.

_Ok_

_ -SH_

Greg Lestrade shoved Sherlock over with his shoulder and took a seat next to him. "Is that bullet-proof glass around the witness stand?"

"Good afternoon to you as well. And yes, how very observant of you."

"Why? Is that a new law in place?"

"No. Ms. Adler demanded it as a precaution."

"That's a bit high maintenance, don't you think?" Greg asked, folding his arms and adjusting his seating position. Sherlock didn't respond, since the judge had entered and the court marshal was ushering a one James Brook to the defense table. He appeared quite perturbed, he was fidgety, and he kept looking away from Sherlock. _"Finally broke you, you bastard,"_ Sherlock thought.

The trial seemed to drag on at first. Brook pleaded not guilty, of course. Finally Irene took the stand, wearing an emerald green tight-fitting dress, and Sherlock was thankful that she hadn't shown up in her dominatrix garb. She facetiously chuckled and she raised her hand and swore to 'tell the whole truth'.

The prosecution attorney got up out of his seat. Mycroft had agreed to pay a large sum to Shinwell Johnson, an excellent and well-known criminal justice lawyer in the area. Mycroft was sure that Johnson was their best bet to win the case.

"State your name."

"Irene Adler."

"Ms. Adler, what is your relationship to the defendant?"

"Well, I would say strictly business, but in my line of work that means something else."

The courtroom hummed with murmurs. "It's like the damn peanut gallery," Lestrade mumbled to Sherlock.

"What does 'strictly business' entail exactly?" Johnson continued.

"Well, occasionally my clients accidentally provide me with information that could be considered…sensitive. Mr. Moriarty, or rather, Mr. Brook would pay me a large sum in exchange for that information and, every once in a while, some photos."

"What kind of photos?"

"Use your imagination." She smirked behind the thick glass.

"What would Mr. Brook do with the photos and information?"

"Pressure people. Blackmail. Terrorist attacks. The usual."

"Did Mr. Brook ever threaten or 'pressure' you?"

"He did tell me once that he would skin me if I crossed him."

"Thank you Ms. Adler." Johnson sat at the prosecution table and took a victorious sip of water.

The defense attorney stood, and Sherlock looked him over. No doubt, one of Brook's disciples, judging by his willingness to sit in a close proximity to his client. Nobody in their right mind would sit that close to Jim Moriarty. He was a man of average height with wavy dirty blonde hair and beady dark brown irises. He had a bit of stubble above his upper lip that suggested he was not concerned with the case enough to shave this morning.

"Who is that?" Lestrade whispered.

"Peter Jones."

"What do you know him from?"

"I don't. Never heard of him. But his name is on his brief case."

"We have no questions for the witness, your honor," stated Jones. He had an exceptionally smooth voice that gave Sherlock goose bumps.

The judge leaned forward, as if he hadn't heard correctly. "…The defense does not wish to question the witness?"

Jones sat back down next to Brook. "No, your honor."

Sherlock squinted at Brook, who sat rubbing his hands together uncomfortably and darting his eyes around. What was he up to?

"In that case, the prosecution may call their next witness to the stand," said the judge. Irene walked off and winked at the judge, who took great pleasure in watching her walk away.

Johnson stood back up, a little shell-shocked. "I would like to call Sherlock Holmes as my next witness."

Sherlock rose up like a shadow and walked to the stand. He put his right hand up and swore blah blah blah. As he took his seat, he could see Mycroft's ominous silhouette looming over him from the back of the balcony.

"State your name."

"Sherlock Holmes. As you have just said."

The press held their cameras at the ready.

"And how do you know the man formerly known as Jim Moriarty?"

"Oh, Moriarty and I have quite a history. He orchestrates crimes and I solve them."

"You sound like quite the pair," Johnson chuckled. Not amused, Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Quite. Like two peas in a pod."

"Could you list a few examples of crimes that Mr. Brook has organized?"

"I could write you a novel."

"A few examples should do just fine, thanks."

"More recently he tried to murder seven children in a mine set to be destroyed. Then there was the time that he blew up the London Bridge and nearly blew up a young woman along with it. Oh, and how could I forget the lovely instance where he soiled my reputation, threatened my friends, and blackmailed me to kill myself? Obviously I didn't, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting before you today, but you get my point."

"And you know for a fact that James Brook was behind all of those things?"

"I'm positive." He glared at Brook who avoided his gaze.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. No further questions, your honor."

"Your honor, we do not wish to question this witness either."

The judge removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Mr, Jones, do you wish to question _any_ of the witnesses?"

"No, your honor. But my client would like to take the stand to testify."

The Judge blinked at him, as did Sherlock.

"Very well, if you don't have any plans to speak to anyone else." The judge waved his hand and beckoned Brook to the stand. He scurried quickly past Sherlock and took his place in the stand.

"State your name," said the judge.

"R-richard Brook."

_"You have got to be kidding me_," Sherlock thought, not bothering to sit in his seat upon hearing the name. He spun around and stood behind Johnson.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the judge.

"My name is Richard Brook, sir."

"...You are not James Brook?"

"No sir, James is my twin brother."

"Then where the devil is he?!"

"I don't know, sir."

Sherlock looked back at John, who was gawking by the doorway. He then looked up at the balcony, where Mycroft was about to snap his umbrella in half.

"Look, your honor, I have proof," he said, fidgeting in his pockets and presenting an I.D.

"We have a birth certificate as well if you'd like," Jones commented from his seat.

The judge snatched the card and boiled over with anger. "This is the trial for James Brook, why have you brought me his brother?"

Peter Jones sat smirking at Johnson.

"Richard Brook is dead!" Sherlock shouted. "I have DNA evidence that this man is in fact James Brook." He raised his voice indignantly and charged the stand. Brook shrank away from him, holding up his right hand in defense. Oh, he was good.

"Sit down Mr. Holmes! The prosecution may present their DNA evidence."

'Sir," said Johnson, standing up. "I don't have any DNA evidence…"

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.

The DNA test was in the file.

He had given the file to Brook in the warehouse.

"Then I have no choice but to dismiss this case on the grounds of insufficient evidence. Mr. Brook is free to go." The judge slammed down his gavel and left the courtroom.

The house erupted with shouts from reporters and flashing cameras, but Sherlock paid no mind. He had locked eyes with Brook, who smirked at him knowingly as he was escorted out of the room.

(****Thanks for reading! Please excuse my amateur legal jargon. Leave me some feedback! Also, a lovely friend of mine made a graphic for the story. Check it out on the story avatar!)


	57. Chapter 51

Ch. 51

(Get the tissues.)

Norah was working in the lab when she got the call from John.

"They let him go," were his first words to her.

"What?!" Norah dropped her syringe and threw off her goggles. "How?!"

"He said that he was Richard Brook and the judge let him off for insufficient evidence from the prosecution. They couldn't prove that he was James and not Richard." John sounded utterly depressed.

"Oh my God." She sat down and put her face in her hand. "How is Sherlock? Has he thrown something at somebody yet?"

"I don't know, he disappeared after the trial. Mycroft and I couldn't find him and he won't answer his mobile."

"Okay, I'll go home and check if he's there." Their quarrel was no longer important. She had almost forgotten what it was about anyway.

…

Norah faked sick and rushed home to Baker street. When she reached 221B, she ran up the stairs and burst in the door. "Sherlock?!"

The flat was a chaotic mess. Papers were thrown from the desk onto the floor and the water buffalo skull was ripped from the wall. John's chair was kicked over next to Sherlock's coat and jacket, which had been tossed onto the floor.

Sherlock had turned his own chair to face the corner of the livingroom, so all Norah saw was his back. He sat with his hands on his head, scrunched into fists and gripping his hair.

Norah sighed when she saw him, eyes softening.

"Sherlock-,"

"Go away," he growled. She didn't dare take a step towards him.

"…I understand that you must be devastated-,"

"You could not possibly understand. You weren't there. Now get out."

"…Darling, I'm sorry, I should have come. Let me -,"

"Are you _deaf_ or just _stupid? I said get out!"_ Sherlock stood up and kicked his chair out of the way to face her.

It was then that Norah saw the rubber tourniquet tied around his arm and the empty syringe on the floor.

She gasped and covered her mouth. "What have you done?" she whispered, appalled at the sight.

With dilated pupils, Sherlock glowered at Norah. He was hunched over like the creature from Frankenstein.

"I don't need your pity or your condescension." His lips were curled into a threatening grimace.

"No, you don't," she said, storming past him and snatching up the needle. "You need help." She threw thew it on the floor and smashed it under her foot. Sherlock heaved a sigh.

"Now I'll have to go get a new one."

"Not a chance."

"Oh please, I can take care of myself."

"No Sherlock, you obviously can't!" She shouted, gesturing to the rubber strip on his forearm. He ripped it off of himself and threw it at her.

"You sound like Mycroft."

"Good, because he's the Holmes brother with some sense in his skull."

Sherlock was not in the mood for her patronizing. He slugged to the couch and flopped down onto it, facing away from Norah.

"Just answer me this, Sherlock," she snarled, as if she was spitting fire. "How does shooting up help? How does it fix anything?"

"It doesn't, it just makes it all quieter. But of course your obnoxious yelling doesn't help with that."

"So rather than starting over and finding a new way to beat Moriarty, you've just…wiped your brain hoping to make him disappear?!"

"There _is_ no new way."

"What? Of course there is, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes, bloody think of something!"

"He's beat me, don't you understand?!" Sherlock spun around and sat up haggardly. He appeared crazed. "He won. Jim Moriarty bested the great Sherlock Holmes. I gave him the case file. He even used his right hand in court, the slimy prick…"

"Do a new DNA test! Find some more of his hair or something!"

"Even if I tracked him down and plucked it out myself, I still have no way to prove that James is alive and Richard is dead. He can assume both identities, he has all of his brother's papers and identification. I could have him arrested over and over and bring him to trial over and over. I didn't…I never expected him to do that…He beat me. The game is over."

Norah gawked at him as he slumped back down onto the cushions.

"The game is never over! You said it yourself! Damnit Sherlock…" She ran her hands through her hair, pacing like Sherlock often did.

"What do you even care? We haven't spoken for days."

She spun around to face him, scornful. "What? Seriously? Sherlock, though you make it _extremely _difficult, I do still love you-,"

Sherlock guffawed hysterically.

Rage spouting like lava, Norah bit down on her tongue and clenched her fists. "Is something funny to you? Because I don't find ANY of this funny."

"You stupid girl," he laughed. "Love doesn't exist."

Norah inhaled a sharp breath.

"…We're back to that again, are we?"

"Back to it? Nothing ever changed. Love is a fabricated fantasy used to indoctrinate children, to make them think that life is more than a boring pit of nothingness. It's a programmed chemical imbalance in the brain, and it certainly is a disadvantage."

"B-but…" she stuttered. "But you said you changed, you said you loved-,"

"I must have said it to appease you. I don't know what on earth I was thinking."

Norah could feel the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes. "Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what?" he asked, mockingly. "A pompous git who pays no mind to any one's feelings? I see no difference in my behavior from any other day."

"You're being cruel!" She swallowed hard to try and push the lump in her throat back down. In response, Sherlock scoffed.

Fed up with his drug-induced malice, Norah began tearing through the space, ripping open every drawer and cabinet.

"…What are you doing?"

She stopped and stormed over to him, holding out her hand. "Give it to me. Give me the rest of your stash."

"What makes you think that I'm going to just hand it over?" Sherlock sneered, shaking his head back and forth.

He was right. Norah figured that he wasn't just going to present her with the rest of his cocaine on a red velvet pillow. She had to deduce it out of him. She looked around the flat; it didn't help that it looked as if a tornado had blown through. Except for the corner of the room by the bookcase…

He had been sitting that way earlier, and she could have sworn that all the books were turned so that that their spines were facing out before. There was one book on the top shelf who's pages were facing out now…

"How original," Norah mused, making her way to the bookshelf. Catching on, Sherlock sprang up and sprinted to stop her. He managed to throw her against the fireplace before she made it to the bookshelf.

Norah cowered away from him, horrified. She was crying now. Sherlock looked at her, panting, and tucked away the remorse that started to bubble up in his gut. No more feeling. Feelings had landed him in this mess.

Norah slowly stood up straight, shaking her head at him. "I'm not going to watch you destroy your brilliant mind," she declared resentfully through the tears.

"Go then!" he shouted, flinging his arm towards her. "Go ahead! I don't need you clouding my head and complicating things anymore."

That was a greater blow than any physical harm he could have inflicted.

Norah's bottom lip quivered as she sniveled. "You don't mean that…you're high…"

"I always mean what I say," he grunted unsympathetically. "Go on, you're just a sorry replacement for John as an assistant. At least he didn't mess with my head. You made me soft. I worked better when you weren't here getting in my way."

Norah wanted to rush towards Sherlock and sob in his arms and kiss the spot where the needle had been and tell him that he wasn't a failure. But this wasn't Sherlock. A different, more malevolent being stooped before her. Her Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

She waited for him to soften and beg her to stay, but his venomous glare did not let up.

"Okay," she said tepidly, nodding. She wiped her tears away and tried to collect herself. Her body was betraying her though; it produced more tears and began to shake. "Okay" she repeated. "I won't impose on you any more." She trudged to the door like a scolded child and looked back one last time, waiting for him to change his mind.

He did not.

Norah went up to her room, packed her things quickly whilst getting tears all over her belongings, and fled Baker street as fast as her feet would carry her.

Sherlock did nothing to stop her, he just sat back down in his chair and stared out the window.


	58. Chapter 52

Ch. 52

It was early in the evening when somebody knocked meekly on Molly's door. She grabbed some change off of the kitchen counter and opened the door to a sniveling Norah with a suitcase in hand.

"Oh goodness, you're not the pizza delivery person," Molly said, startled. She set down the money and ushered Norah in. "What's the matter?"

"I'm so sorry to intrude, I just couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Sherlock would find me at John and Mary's. Could I maybe stay here for a few days? Just until I can lease a new flat or something?" She wiped her tears.

"Of course! It's no trouble!" Molly nodded, assuring her. "What happened?"

Norah's futile attempt to wipe away her tears was ruined by more crying. "I think," Norah said, wiping her snotty nose, "I think Sherlock and I just broke up."

"Oh dear." Molly pried Norah's suitcase from hands and sat her down on the couch. "You can talk to me about it. That is, unless you don't want to talk about it…" She offered awkwardly, sitting next to her friend.

"Well," said Norah, beginning to explain, until she saw Inspector Lestrade walk in from the bathroom. She began to cry harder.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your evening!" Norah started to get up but Molly pushed her back onto the couch.

"Nonsense! Greg, dear, put the kettle on, yeah?"

"Did you fight about the trial?" He asked, going to the stove and rubbing his neck. "It was a freak show."

"Greggie was in a sour mood when he came home too," Molly said, handing her a box of tissues off the side table.

Greggie.

"Not exactly. Erm…he's using again."

"SHIT!" Lestrade exclaimed jumping, having just burned himself on the stove.

"What?!"

"Yes. And he said some things that I thought might have been clouted by the drugs, but I'm starting to think he was serious…" She blew her nose.

"That's it, I'm calling John," said Lestrade, whipping out his phone. Norah got up and waved her hands at him.

"I don't think anybody should bother him in this state. He's…he's not himself. He's vile. Just tell John to wait till the morning."

Greg nodded and heaved a sigh. "Better call Mycroft too. He's going to have my head for this." He stepped into the other room to talk on the phone.

"What did he say to you?" Molly asked timidly.

Norah just slumped back onto the couch and cried in Molly's arms.

…

Irene came back to 221B and walked in on a similar scene as Norah.

She laughed smugly. "Someone's been re-decorating."

"Come to rub it in, have you?" Sherlock asked.

"No. I'm here to get my things. Trial's over and Brooks is going to want my head for testifying against him. So I'll be going." She started towards the bedroom, then paused momentarily. "That is, unless, you want me to stay."

He scoffed. "The room upstairs is apparently vacant now, if you're interested."

Irene puzzled at him. "What, your sweetheart ditched?"

"So it would appear."

"…You don't seem too torn up about it."

"Nope."

Suspicious, The Woman approached him and looked him over. "Are you drunk?"

"Getting warmer."

"Hm. I didn't take you for a drug addict."

"Yes, well, I didn't take you for…" he couldn't come up with a comeback. Downside of not being able to think straight when high.

Irene smirked and slithered her hand onto Sherlock's shoulder.  
"You hungry? _Let's have dinner._"


	59. Chapter 53

Ch. 53

Sherlock awoke to the sound of rummaging outside of his bedroom. Dazed, he staggered up out of bed and was about to leave the room when he realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"…Erm…"

He looked around and reached for his bathrobe.

Nearly the entirety of Scotland Yard met him on the other side of the door. Sherlock gnarled and pushed past the inspector in front of him. He came upon Lestrade and Mycroft in the livingroom.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Mycroft chided.

"I'm sorry…that I left my door unlocked."

"You didn't." Lestrade motioned to the busted door off its hinges.

"All of you, get out!"

None of the intruders paid any attention to him.

Disgusted with the mess and his junkie sibling, Mycroft prodded some cushions on the floor out of his way with his umbrella. "Is The Woman here?"

"How should I know?"

"She's staying with you, isn't she?"

Sherlock rubbed his forehead. He was having trouble remembering what had happened to him last night.

"Erm…"He spun about, finding no sign of Irene. Then he remembered.

_"Let's have dinner."_

"Oh God," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"…Well?"

"I erm…I don't know where she is. Must've left after the trial."

"You're lying," snapped Mycroft.

"Where's Norah?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

Lestrade glared at him and shook his head. "You prick."

"Sorry, what?"

Just then, Sherlock saw someone come up the stairs in his peripheral vision. He turned to face a _very_ disappointed John Watson.

"…John-,"

"No, you don't get to make excuses." He scolded, pointing at him intimidatingly. Sherlock sighed, slouching. He hated letting down John most of all.

"I take it that this isn't for a case this time."

"…Not this time, no."

John stood before his best friend clenching and unclenching his fists.

"So, this is it then? Because they can search and find anything they like," he said, gesturing to the inspectors, "but you're just going to go find more, and the cycle begins again."

Filled with guilt, Sherlock said nothing.

"So go ahead Sherlock, push everything and everyone you care about away. See where it lands you."

"Caring already landed me in this mess!" Sherlock shouted. Just then, more mist cleared from his brain and he recalled some of what he had said to Norah last night. He gasped, and his gaze softened.

"Norah…"

"Yeah, and that's the other thing. How _dare_ you blame this on Norah. How dare you send her away when all she's _ever_ done was help you and put up with your bullshit!"

Sherlock had pieced the rest of yesterday evening together now, every one of Norah's pleas and every one of his insults.

He nodded. "…It's good that she's gone."

"You spineless-,"

"John," Mycroft said, stopping him.

_"It's good that she's gone. She should find someone better," _Sherlock thought out of self-loathing.

"Fine." John inhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. You've just lost the best thing that's ever happened to you. Hope you're happy."

Sherlock had no words to justify the situation.

"Sir?" one of Lestrade's minions called to him. He had pawed through the bookcase and was now holding a little plastic baggie of white powder between two fingers.

"There, you've got what you need, now I want all of you _out!"_

Having found what they were looking for, Lestrade began moving his troops out of the vicinity.

"I've made arrangements for you at a rehabilitation center," said Mycroft.

"I will go to no such place."

"You will, or I'll tell mother."

"Tell mother, tell the papers, tell James Brook for all I care. Why can't you all just leave me alone?!"

Mycroft was on his last nerve. First the humiliation of yesterday's trial, now this.

"I refuse to be related to a drug addict!"

"Well you're pretty insufferable to be related to yourself, but I make due."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft scolded, throwing his umbrella onto the floor.

"It's no use, he's not going to clean up unless he wants to. We can't make him," said John, turning to Mycroft.

"I am in the room you know, you might as well acknowledge me." Sherlock grumbled.

"…Very well." Mycroft said sadly, giving up. "I'll be monitoring you. Call me when your ready to grow up and face your failures like a man." He turned up his nose and left behind Lestrade.

John was left alone with Sherlock.

"You listen to me," John said. His tone was quiet, but intense. "You are not allowed anywhere near my family like this. Do you hear me? Call me when you decide to put your big boy pants on."

He turned like a soldier and left, slamming the broken door behind him.

It was only when Sherlock was alone did he feel the full repercussions of what he had done. The bright morning light from the window burned his dry eyes like the convicting glare of a magnifying glass upon an ant.

He noticed that Norah's ruby red coat was still draped on its hanger by the door, just as she had left it. She had forgotten it.

Sherlock approached the garment and took it in his hands. He could still smell Norah's fragrance on its fibers.

She'd come back to get it, she'd have to.

He made his way up to her room to see if she had left anything else. When he nudged the door open, he saw a woman's figure curled up in his dress shirt on the bed. His breath caught.

"Norah?"


	60. Chapter 54

Ch. 54

"Good guess, but no," said Irene Adler, turning over to face him. "I thought they'd never leave. I was so bored hiding up here."

Sherlock puzzled at her in his shirt.

"…Last night…Did we…?"

"…You don't remember? That's rather insulting."

Sherlock's eyes dropped to the floor. He felt so low, like at any moment he could melt into the carpet. This just kept getting worse.

"Well don't look so depressed about it," she said snobbishly, getting up and walking past him down the stairs. After a moment of hesitation, he followed her back to his floor of the flat.

He didn't know what to do with himself, let alone what to say. He could shout at Irene all he wanted, but in the end it was he that had agreed to "dinner". He wondered if Norah would find out. More likely, she would figure it out. How much more could she take before Sherlock broke her completely?

"You're fair game now anyway," Irene continued, reaching for the box of cereal in the cabinet. "Not that I adhere to the exclusivity of relationships."

Sherlock looked down at himself, at his hands, disgusted. He must have been the most repulsive human alive.

"I need bathe and run an errand," he mumbled, going to the bathroom.

"Well don't let me stop you. Pick up some milk while you're out," Irene called to him casually.

He needed to clear his head again.

…

Sherlock returned later with dilated pupils a new stash in his pocket.

…

He sat in his chair, looking out the window all day. No thoughts. Just quiet.

…

Irene came home.

"You forgot the milk."

Sherlock stood unsteadily and unbuttoned his coat.

"I'm hungry."

Irene smirked.

"Then let's have dinner"

…

The next day went on fairly similarly, without a morning drug bust. Sherlock made himself tea, he got high, and he stared out his window. He didn't eat, he didn't talk, he didn't think.

…

He and Irene were having dinner nearly every night now.

…

Norah never came back for her coat.

…

Sherlock was tired of Mycroft and John's calls, so he just let his phone die and didn't bother to recharge it.

…

He hadn't left the flat in weeks. He was beginning to look emaciated. Mrs. Hudson left meals by the door, but she always came back to an untouched plate.

…

"Norah," he whispered in ecstasy one night against The Woman's body.

She got up off of him and left the bedroom without a word.

She was gone the next day.

…

"I'm sorry, Norah Sinclair no longer works at St. Barts…"

…

"Can I speak to Norah?" he asked haggardly into the phone.

"…Sherlock," Molly replied, sorowfully. "Norah's been gone since June. She took her old job back in Manchester."

"…Oh…"

"Sherlock, please," she begged. "Talk to Mycroft. Talk to John. You're going to destroy-,"

_Click._

…

He woke up strapped down to a hospital bed.

Overdose.


	61. Chapter 55

Ch. 55

It was September. Though it had been months, Norah still called John once a week for an update on Sherlock, courtesy of Mycroft. She made sure to call after work, in her flat, by herself in bed. The mention of his name rendered her unable to function.

"He's uh, he's gotten worse. He's in the hospital."

Norah clutched the pillow in her arms closer to her rigid body.

"…Has he O.D.'ed?"

"Afraid so…"

"Someone needs to do something. He's going to die."

"Norah, come home."

"…"

"You can talk some sense into him."

"I can't, I tried."

"He's been asking for you."

"…"

"…Norah?"

"I'll call next week."

_Click._

Manchester was perfectly ordinary. Norah's lab work was perfectly ordinary. People were tedious, she didn't bother with them too much. She ate alone. She brought a book with her when she went out, the true sign of someone who is constantly by herself. She went to bed early. Everything went back to the way it was before. It was like she had never gone to London or crossed paths with Sherlock Holmes.

Except it wasn't like that at all. When she thrashed in the night from a bad dream nobody wrapped their arms around her and held her until she fell back asleep. She wasn't used to not having anybody around to comment on NPR radio with. Sometimes she accidentally cooked enough dinner for two people. She was in a constant state of waiting for the next opportunity to go to sleep. Her flat was altogether too quiet and too cold. Once, she had to fight the urge to walk into a crime scene. The yellow tape was so inviting, and she thought that perhaps he would be in there, figuring out who the murderer was from the nature of the paint chipping on the walls or something ridiculous like that.

Just as she had promised, Norah called again the next week.

"Hey, Norah."

"Hi John, how's he doing?"

"Better. Out of the hospital. I tried to visit but…he didn't want…" he cleared his throat. "Still hasn't checked himself into rehab."

"Ugh, idiot." She grumbled.

"Hey, Mary and I were wondering, we're having a sort of get together for Ava's six-month on the twelfth…"

"…Are you inviting me?"

"Yes. We'd love to see you. And you're welcome to stay with us."

"I shouldn't, I have work…"

Excuses.

"Norah-,"

"Is he going to be there?"

"No. I won't let him around the baby. Just you, Molly and Greg and Mrs. Hudson."

Norah hesitated.

"But it may be a good idea for you to stop by Baker street-,"

"No."

"Norah, don't hang up on me again. Please. Just hear me out."

"…Okay. Go ahead."

"You're the only one who's going to be able to convince him. I've tried."

"He doesn't want to see me and I sure as hell don't want to see him either."

"That's a lie, and you know it."

"John, you didn't hear what he said to me. You didn't hear _how_ he said it."

"I don't care what he said, he is going to _die_ if you don't do something. For God sakes, you're both acting like children."

"He-,"

"He has a name Norah. SHERLOCK is going to die, did you hear me?"

Norah got up out of bed to pace when she caught her foot on an old file box and kicked something onto the floor. She looked down and gasped, picking up the small object.

"…You're right…"

"…I am?"

"Yes, I'll be there on Friday."

She could almost hear John smiling on the other line.

"Good. Thank you. You'll talk to him?"

"I'll talk to him."


	62. Chapter 56

Ch. 56

The train ride to London consisted of attempting to read a book (but not managing to get past the first page,) twiddling thumbs, doing a crossword puzzle and pretending to be asleep. Norah felt like all of her innards were flipped upside down.

Mary was there at the station to pick her up, running to embrace her when she got off the platform. "Welcome home," she said lovingly.

London smelt so wonderfully familiar, and it had only been five months. The Watsons home felt more like home than Norah's flat. When Norah arrived and set her bags by the couch, the first thing she did was run to pick Ava up out of John's arms and squeeze her lovingly. She was already so big, and she had little tufts of blonde hair on her little head. She babbled in Norah's embrace and tugged on her long hair.

"Did you tell him I was coming?" Norah asked, setting out plates of finger foods from the fridge.

"I thought it best to er…surprise him." John said.

Norah swallowed hard. "…We'll see how that works out."

When Molly arrived with Greg, they were quite startled to see Norah. "You're back!" Molly exclaimed, wrapping Norah in a suffocating hug.

"Hi Norah, er…does Sherlock know?"

"Not yet. It's good to see you guys," she said, smiling.

"Norah, dear!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, having come in holding an atrocious-looking cake. She set down the monstrosity and hugged Norah after Molly.

"Okay, okay, it's Ava's party not mine," Norah laughed.

The get together was cute, and Norah craved this time with her friends that she had missed so much. Ava shoved her face in Mrs. Hudson's cake, which made for a golden picture. Everybody snacked and made awkward small talk, too afraid to speak about Sherlock in front of Norah. Nobody wanted to ruin the party.

Towards the end of the night when coffee was being served, Norah sat in the living room with Ava in her lap, making faces at the infant to get her to smile. She had John's smile, but Mary's beautiful eyes.

"Lucky kid," she cooed, clapping Ava's little hands together. "You have the best mummy and daddy in the world."

"Norah? Coffee?" John called from the kitchen.

"No, thanks."

Mrs. Hudson came behind Norah and put her hand on her shoulder.

"I'm heading out dear,"

"Oh, alright. I'll um…I'll be 'round tomorrow morning."

"Really?! Oh, thank God. He's just…" Mrs. Hudson pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose into it. "Well, he just needs a good scolding for somebody other than Mycroft."

"Yes. Right. See you tomorrow."

The next morning, Norah's hands shook as she dressed herself. She spent a good long while deep breathing in front of the washroom mirror, afraid that any minute she might hurl. Five months of no contact with Sherlock and now she was going to show up unannounced at Baker street. John and Mary wished her luck as she left the townhouse.

The short cab ride made her car sick, and she staggered out after paying. Everything was how she had left it; crooked knocker, the bronze lettering reading '221B'.

Sucking in as much air as her lungs would allow, Norah entered the flat, holding her breath. She climbed the stairs slowly, terrified of what she would find behind Sherlock's door.

The flat was in shambles, worse than it had been when she left. The smell of food rotting in the sink wafted in from the kitchen and the wallpaper was ripped from the right wall. Norah cautiously stepped inside, stepping over broken glass and torn up books. She wanted to cry for the destroyed pieces of literary gold all over the floor.

"Sh-sherlock?" she squeaked, popping her head into the kitchen. No Sherlock.

She opened his bedroom door tentatively, praying that she wouldn't walk in on Sherlock and Irene in bed together. Lucky for Norah, the room was empty.

She went upstairs and checked her old room, still no Sherlock.

Where was he? John said he never left his flat.

No matter, she would just wait for him to come home. In the mean time, she took the liberty of cleaning up the kitchen and sweeping the living room floor. When she was finished, he still wasn't home. It was already 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

Norah decided to wait a bit longer. She sat in his chair, catching a whiff of his aroma on the cushions that made her heart flutter. That's when she saw her red coat on the hanger by the door. She had forgotten that she had even left it.

Then she saw Sherlock's coat hanging next to it. She furrowed her brow.

Odd, he never left the house without that navy coat. Not even when it was warm enough to go without it. Maybe he was high and forgot it.

Looking around to quadruple check that nobody was there, Norah tip-toed over to the coat and grabbed it off the hanger, putting it on herself. Oh, she could smell him now. Peppermint and musk.

She hugged herself and closed her eyes.

She then felt a rectangular object in the pocket against her thigh. She reached into the pocket and removed his phone. Okay, Sherlock definitely didn't go anywhere without his mobile.

Norah took the coat off and hung it back up, puzzling at it. She had swept the floor clean, but she recalled the broken glass. It was knocked off of the desk with great force judging by the trajectory of the shards.

_"…Sign of a struggle?" _Her detective-trained brain said.

_"No, no, he's fine. He probably just got angry and threw it," _Norah assured herself, sitting back down in her chair. She sat back down.

_"…but his sheets did appear like he was dragged from them.."_

Instinctively, she got up and went to his room. Yes, she sheets were twirled onto the floor.

There were fingernail scratches on his nightstand facing away from the bed.

Filled with panicked adrenaline, Norah pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed John.

"Something's not right. I think Sherlock's in trouble."

She swung her red coat over her shoulders and ran back out of 221B.


	63. Chapter 57

Ch. 57

_Thirty-six Hours Prior_

Sherlock must have woken up in the middle of the night, because everything was still dark when he opened his eyes. His internal clock had not been working properly these days. Naturally, he had no motivation to get out of bed. He raised his wrist to his face to look at his watch, but he still couldn't see anything. He rubbed his eyes and opened them again.

He couldn't see anything. Everything was still dark.

Sherlock sat up and looked around, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. They did not. Still black.

He reached over amaurotically to click his night stand lamp on. Though he pressed the button and heard the faint buzzing of the electricity in the light bulb, he saw nothing. Just black.

Sherlock sat up and began to panic, rubbing his eyes furiously waiting for his vision to return. Sometimes he had nightmares about becoming blind as a child, and he would wake up rubbing his eyes until the skin around them was raw. Blindness was just about his greatest fear.

"No…no, no, no, no, no," he kept repeating, terror-stricken.

He sat still when he heard the click-clack of heels walking on his kitchen floor.

"Not to worry," a familiar serpentine voice said quietly, grabbing him by his ankles and dragging him from the bed. He gripped the nightstand for leverage, but it was no use. "I just gave you some eye drops in last night."

"Irene! What the-,"

"Shhh," she hushed him, and he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to his temple. He stopped struggling.

Sherlock couldn't see anything, therefore, he couldn't deduce much more than 20% of what he was normally capable of. The fact that he was coming off of a high wasn't helping either. He was going to have to rely on his other senses. For all he knew, Irene could be pressing a stapler to his head, but he wasn't going to take the chance to find out.

"Get up," she ordered.

With some difficulty, he propped himself onto what he felt out as the kitchen counter. She pressed the gun against his forehead again.

"We're going to go for a little drive," she said coolly. "We're going to walk down the stairs and into a car, and I'm going to keep this gun real close. Try not to fall on your face."

"What did you do to me?" he frantically demanded to know.

"Well, you can't see. Take a guess."

"Is this for James Brook? Did he hire you?"

"I had to get back into his good graces somehow. Go." She pushed him forward.

Sherlock walked slowly, feeling his way around, looking for something to defend himself with. He ran into the desk and felt a glass on the edge of it.

"Wrong way," jeered The Woman. He turned and pelted the glass in the direction of her voice as hard as he could, but all he heard was the glass shattering against the wall and Irene's laughter.

"This is humorous, but you're wasting my time." She walked up to him and shoved him in the direction of a stairs, which he almost took a tumble down.

When he reached the sidewalk, The Woman took his arm and pressed the gun to his ribs. She led him into the back seat of a van, in which someone tied his hands behind his back. Sherlock could hear exactly three different people breathing other than Irene. One of them was heavy set judging by the difficulty of his breathing.

Once he was bound, the van took off, jolting Sherlock backwards. He began counting.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

He felt his body tilt to the right.

_Left turn._

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen._

He heard a click and smelt the burning of tobacco and tar.

"Could you spare a cigarette?" Sherlock asked the smoker.

"Shut up," a raspy voice ordered, and Sherlock felt a sharp pain from a blow to his ribs.

_Twenty eight. Twenty nine. Thirty. Thirty one. Thirty two. Thirty three._

_Another left turn._

"Why's he counting?" another man's voice hollered.

Oops. Sherlock was unaware that he had been counting out loud.

Irene took notice of this and figured out what he was doing. She promptly bludgeoned him over the head with the gun, and he was knocked unconscious.


	64. Chapter 58

Ch. 58

Sticky liquid dripped from his right temple.

Sherlock awoke groggily, hearing the rattling of metal against metal. He felt a cutting restraint around his left wrist. When he tried to pull it away, he only heard more clanging. Handcuffs. To a pipe, no doubt.

Sherlock opened his eyes. Still black. What if this blindness was permanent?

Not his biggest concern at the moment. He couldn't see where he was, but he could create himself a mental picture pretty easily. The smell of rust and mildew, the faint sound of a leaking pipe and dripping liquid, the dirty ground he felt beneath himself covered in debris of some sort. He had roughly five and a half ideas of where he could be right now, depending on how long the travel time was.

There was nobody else in the room with him from what he could hear. His first plan of action was to beckon the first person that came in close enough to him so that he could trip them in such a way that they would hit their head on the pipe he was bound to. Then he would search for a key to his shackles in their pockets. If there was more than one person, he would trip one and reach for a possible firearm.

He realized after a few minutes that he was completely parched. His dry tongue scraped around his barren mouth, and his throat was as arid as a desert. He tried to produce some saliva to relive this but he could not.

He began to feel cold and shaky. Symptoms of withdrawal from the cocaine.

How long had he been in here?

He usually began to feel mild withdrawals approximately five to six hours after his high wore off. He had been sleeping before he left, and he couldn't remember exactly when he had last shot up, so he couldn't accurately judge how long it had been since he was taken. That was problematic.

With his free hand he raised his fingers to his damp temple, and felt a sharp pain and viscous liquid on his fingertips. He rubbed the blood between his fingers. It was a few hours old judging by the thick coagulation.

He heard faint footsteps and went limp again. He would pretend to be asleep.

There were at least four, maybe five people approaching his holding chamber. A few people had heavy, kerplunking footsteps. Another must have been especially chipper, because they walked with a skip in their step. Another wore clicking high heels.

"WAKEY WAKEY!" the chipper person shouted as they came in. He knew exactly who it was.

Sherlock pretended to stir a bit, and then hang his head again. He felt himself being gripped by the hair and yanked up.

"I said, wakey wakey," James Brook whispered with hot breath.

"I see you gave me the luxury suite."

"Of course, you're THE Sherlock Holmes. Only the best for you."

"What will it be this time?"

Torture? Been there, done that. He had no information that James Brook needed to torture out of him. Or maybe he just wanted to do it for the hell of it. Because he could.

Brook chuckled. "Smile for the camera, Sherly."

Sherlock heard the clacking sound of parts being put together. Tripod. Video camera.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a surprise," Brook mumbled into his ear.

"Ready," another man said from behind where he heard the camera being set up.

"Then let's get a move on."

There was a faint beep.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to 'Guess That Detective!' I'm your host, Jim Moriarty. This contestant's a smart arse,"

Was this broadcasting live? This was a sick joke.

"He's tall, but not as tall as everybody thinks he is," Brook said in a mocking voice.

"This is ridiculous-,"

"SHHH! Don't spoil the surprise! Yes folks, you guessed it, it's SHERLOCK BLOODY HOLMES!" Brook shouted, clapping and making noises like a screaming audience.

"I'll make you a deal, ladies and gents. If you can figure out where Sherly is by this room that you see behind me, you can come get him, and you can come kill him yourself. Any way you'd like. I'd be willing to bet that there's a few of you out there who would love the pleasure of _killing Sherlock Holmes_," he said slowly.

"Oh, I see now. Not very original of you, though."

Brook hit him on his injured temple. "Sherlock, this isn't interactive. Hush."

"He's all yours, ladies and gents. Come and get 'im." Brook announced violently.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then a loud clap. "That's a wrap!" Brook exclaimed. "You see Sherly, I could just shoot you myself right here right now, but where's the fun in that when I can show the entire United Kingdom a live video of someone else killing you for me?" He said, chuckling. "Irene, stay and watch him. If anybody comes to claim their prize, let me know."

"What? Why me?"

"Because I don't trust him with any of these other buffoons."

"I'm not a babysitter."

_"Do as I ask." _He hissed. Sherlock heard the bodies exiting the room, but he did not hear the heels exiting.

"Here we are again," Irene said unenthusiastically.

Sherlock rattled his handcuffs. "So it would seem."

So this was it. He was just going to wait for death. He wouldn't even get to see who his killer was.

He supposed he deserved it. Besides, with his vision gone, he probably would have just done it himself eventually. Perhaps Irene would take pity on him and give him something to slit his wrists with, or better yet, a pistol.

It wasn't worth it if he couldn't see John or Mary or Ava again.

Or Norah.


	65. Chapter 59

Ch. 59

When the frightful broadcast ended, Norah dropped the Styrofoam cup of coffee she had been holding. All of Scotland Yard was silent, gawking at their computer monitors or the tv screen.

Norah ran back to Greg Lestrade's office.

"We need to find him," she bellowed manically.

Greg snapped out of his horrified stupor and looked away from his computer screen. "What do you think we've been trying to do for the last hour!?"

"Did you _hear_ him? There are at least fifty people in London _alone_ that would gladly make the trip to kill Sherlock. You have a visual now, send units to every dingy old brewery in the UK."

"Norah, with all due respect, do not tell me how to do my j-…wait, how did you know it was a brewery?"

"…Green rust on everything from copper equipment and lots of piping. It's either a brewery or a very outdated dairy." Norah said matter-of-fact-ly, removing her buzzing phone from her coat pocket and stepping outside. Dumbfounded, Lestrade began to go off of her brewery or dairy suggestion.

"Jesus Christ, tell me you just saw that," John said on the other line. He sounded just as spooked as the rest of them.

"Yeah, I think everybody in the country did," Norah said, putting her other hand to her forehead and pacing about.

"Where are you?"

"Scotland Yard."

"Okay, I'm on my way over.

"John, I don't know what to do."

"…What would Sherlock do? Thank like Sherlock!" he encouraged.

Norah's jaw moved up and down without making any sound. She searched for words. "I'm not…I can't…I don't have an inventory of every abandoned brewery in the UK stored in my brain!"

"How did you know-, see! That's what I mean!"

"No. I can't do this one by myself, and no offense to Inspector Lestrade but there's no way that any of his men are going to get to him in time."

"I heard that!" called Greg.

Norah heard John's car door slam and the engine start in the background of the call. "There must be some way to figure out where he is. What about Mycroft?"

"If Mycroft knew, the national guard would be there already. I need somebody who-…"

Norah stopped pacing.

"…Norah? Did I lose you?"

"John, turn around and go back home."

"What? Why?"

"Go back and fetch Mary."

"…No."

"John, please-,"

"Absolutely not! She's done with all that. And she's home with the baby."

"Fine, you stay with Ava and let Mary drive over."

"Norah, I'm not involving my wife."

"DO you want your best friend to die?!"

Norah heard the screech of John's breaks and some unintelligible angry muttering.

"Alright, fine." He hung up.

…

"You brought your kid?!" Lestrade asked, shocked to see John carrying little Ava into his office. Mary walked in with incredible purpose.

"No time to get a babysitter. Move," Mary ordered the inspector.

He blinked at her, bewildered. "Excuse me?"

"I need to use your computer," she said, yanking him out of his seat despite his protests. "I need to see the video clip again."

"I'm sure someone downstairs recorded it," grumbled Lestrade.

"Nonsense, it's already on Youtube."

"…Oh."

"Mary," Norah said whilst biting her nails nervously. "Can you find him?"

Mary looked up from the computer at her, but did not answer.


	66. Chapter 60

Ch. 60

_Eight Years Prior_

"Sh-Sherlock?" she sputtered on the other line.

"What is it? What's happened?"

He heard whimpers.

"Norah, tell me what's happened."

"…The fire in the library-," she couldn't finish her thought.

Sherlock began to realize what she was trying to convey to him. "…Norah, where's your father?" he asked grimly.

Her crying was enough of an answer.

Sherlock slumped down in his seat at his desk, stunned. He had just seen Professor Sinclair this morning. He was wearing a stupid sweater vest and drinking tea. When he caught wind of the fire on campus, he never thought…

"Sherlock? Are you still there?" she said, sniffling.

He didn't respond. Instead, he let the phone slide from his hand onto the floor, the chord dangling off the desk.

…

There was a knock on his door an hour later. He hadn't moved from his seat at his desk, and he still didn't to open the door.

Norah came in anyway, her face red and tear stained and covered in melted mascara.

"…Sherlock?"

He didn't turn to look at her.

"…They found his body but it's…charred…" she choked.

He didn't say anything.

"… Please, Sherlock, I really need somebody right now otherwise I'm going to go mad!" Norah shouted and then began to cry again, covering her face. Unable to support herself any more, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes.

She felt his arms wrap under her armpits and around her back. Relived that he hadn't turned to stone in his desk chair, Norah squeezed him back tightly, allowing her tears to wet his shoulder.

He sat her down on the bed and took a seat beside her, but still didn't say anything.

"I feel like," she muttered, clutching her throat. "I feel like I can't breathe." She leaned forward, sucking in deep breaths and shuddering. "I feel like I'm just going to crumble into dust. I sort of want to," she cried.

Sherlock didn't have any words. Nothing sufficient. He put a hand on her head a stroked her hair. It was a good thing that she was bent over, so that she couldn't see the tears coming from his own eyes.

"Please say something," she begged. "Anything. The silence feels like knives in my head."

Sherlock got up, took the lamp off of his nightstand and hurled is against the wall, screaming at it. Norah jumped.

"Sorry," he panted. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I just had to…I needed to…"

Norah saw that he was crying and opened her arms to him. He sighed, softened his brow, and crawled into her like a little boy with a scraped knee.

Norah eventually cried herself to sleep, but Sherlock could not bring himself to find any rest in slumber.

…

_"You've reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave me a message if you have anything worthwhile to say. If not, don't waste my time."_

_Beep._

"Hi, it's me. I haven't seen you in days. I'm not doing super well by myself right now. Where are you?"

…

_"You've reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave me a message if you have anything worthwhile to say. If not, don't waste my time."_

_Beep._

"Me again. Funeral's on Saturday, two o'clock. Cambridge City Cemetery. Be there, please."

…

_"You've reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave me a message if you have anything worthwhile to say. If not, don't waste my time."_

_Beep._

"…You weren't there…I don't even…how could…"

…

_"You've reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave me a message if you have anything worthwhile to say. If not, don't waste my time."_

_Beep._

"You're a piece of shit. You're not the one who died. Call me back, damnit."

…

_"You've reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave me a message if you have anything worthwhile to say. If not, don't waste my time."_

_ Beep._

"I don't know where you are, I don't know what you're doing, I don't even know if you're getting these messages, but if I _ever_ see you again, so help me, I will…Goodbye Sherlock."

…

_ "The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected."_


	67. Chapter 61

Ch. 61

Sherlock wasn't sure how long it had been since the broadcast. Forty-eight hours maybe, but he couldn't tell for certain.

The withdrawal had taken him over completely. His whole being ached and cold tremors wracked his body, rendering him exhausted. Not to mention he was starved and dehydrated. He couldn't see Irene's face, but he was sure that she was enjoying his torment. He would listen to her eating or sipping from a water bottle, envious.

At this point, he just wanted it to be over with. He wanted some begrudging moron to figure out where he was and just end it quickly. This senseless waiting was painfully torturous. He hated waiting.

He suspected that John and Mycroft and Scotland Yard had seen the broadcast too. He wondered if they were looking for him. His mother was probably going ballistic, of course she was forcing Mycroft to search for his baby brother. He wondered if Norah was trying to figure out where he was. If he were Norah, he wouldn't be looking. Not after what he said to her.

"God, you're boring now," Irene remarked after days of staring at him in silence.

"What would you have me do? Tell jokes?" He sneered weakly.

She stood up, strutted to him, and and kneeled down in front of his face. "No, you're just…soft. You've gone soft on me, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock felt her sweet-smelling breath on his face. He didn't respond to her.

"Where's your sweetheart now?"

"Shut up."

"Seriously, where is she? She's not here to save you."

"I'm well aware of that. I don't expect her to come save me."

"Who _do_ you expect to come save you?"

"Nobody. I've accepted my demise. Would you kindly leave me alone to deal with it?"

The Woman laughed and stood up, pushing her high heel against his throat. With his free hand he grabbed the shoe and tried to push her away, but had no energy to do so.

"You used to be this great illustrious man. You fascinated me. Now you're squishy. Like a wet sponge." She pressed her sharp heel harder to him, causing him to grunt.

"What if I just…did it right now? James didn't _say_ that I wasn't allowed to kill you. I wonder how angry he would be if I just…did it. I could go get the camera and everything. It would be my pleasure."

"Be my guest," Sherlock snarled under her foot. "If you're really so bitter that we didn't quite work out."

Irene snickered and shoved the stiletto harder into him, slightly piercing his flesh so that a trickle of blood ran down his chest. He winced, feeling his collarbone giving way under the pressure.

"You were right Sherlock. You were always right. Sentiment is a chemical defect of the losing side. Caring got you here. Caring is _not_ an advantage."

Sherlock heard the sound of the door swinging open. No doubt his killer had come to collect their grand prize.

"Yes it is, you bitch!"

Or not.

Irene's heel was removed from his chest, causing Sherlock to cough suck in a sharp breath. He heard some scuffling and groaning, then an acute wail and a thud. The other person ran to him and began to unlock his handcuffs.

He knew that voice.

He knew that floral scent.

He remembered the feeling of her fingertips.

He furrowed his brow. "Norah?!"

"You look like hell."

"Where'd you learn to do that?" Another voice called from the doorway.

"…Mary?!" he said, jerking his head in the direction of the other voice.

"I took some random classes at University. Music Theory. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu…" Norah said, releasing him from his restraint.

"How did you-," Sherlock began, but Norah cupped her hand over his mouth.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am severely angry with you and if you say anything, I might just hit you."

There was a pause, then Norah took her hand away from his mouth and replaced it with her urgent, longing lips.

"Okay, guys, no time for this," said Mary hastily. "Still some guards roaming about."

"I can't see," Sherlock said as Norah helped him up.

"…I know it's been a while since we've kissed, but-,"

"No, really, Irene put something in my eyes. I literally can't see."

"…Well, that's a problem."

"Lead him out. I have your back," said Mary, cocking her gun.

Doing as Mary asked, Norah put Sherlock's feeble arm around her shoulders and hurriedly walked him out of the room. He followed where she led, trusting he footing completely. What a relief it was to be in Norah's arms.

"Where's Irene?"

"On the floor behind you," said Mary. "I offered to go in first and knock her out, but Norah insisted on doing it herself."

"That's my girl."

"Nope."

"What?"

"Not your girl. We broke up, remember? You have to win me back, arse hole."

"Right. Sorry."

"Yeah, sorry's not gonna cut it."

"On your left!" shouted Mary, firing a shot to the side of them. There was a thud and whimpering as someone hit the ground. "Move."

Though he couldn't see, Sherlock looked backwards as they kept marching forward. "Did you kill him?"

"Just got his thigh. I'm trying to get away from the whole assassin thing."

"You're not doing a very good job of that."

"Sherlock, I swear I will put you back in that room."

"Careful, stairs," said Norah, preparing him.

They came down the stairs as swiftly as they could without tripping Sherlock. At the bottom of the stairs, he felt himself being led out of another doorway.

Sherlock felt the unfamiliar coolness of fresh evening air on his face, and cleared his nostrils of the smell of mildew. This was short-lived, since Norah and Mary were rushing him into a car.

Norah sat beside him in the back, clutching his arm possessively as the car sped off. "We're going to fix your eyes," she promised. Knowing he was out of harm's way, Sherlock drifted into a relaxed unconsciousness that enveloped him like black velvet.

(****Thanks so much for sticking with me this far! If you feel so inclined, please leave me some feedback, and/or please share this fic with your Sherlockian (or non-Sherlockian) friends by whatever social media means you see fit! I'm on tumblr, my url is in my bio. Message me if you want to talk or nerd out over Sherlock! Thanks! :D)


	68. Just a checkup

Hey! You're still alive even though this story is a million years long! :D

I had a thought. Are any of you artists? I'm a really crappy one. Anybody want to draw some Girl in the Ruby Coat art or make a graphic? I'll post it on my tumblr!

I can't say it enough; thanks so much for reading. It means so much to me that this weird dream I had once and wrote down has been so well received!

Anyways, happy deducing. I'm off to write some more.

P.S, I'm planning for a sequel. But it's just a thought right now. If anybody has any cool suggestions please message me! I'm open to reader ideas!


	69. Chapter 62

Ch. 62

Sherlock felt a jagged pain in his hand as he tried to turn over in bed. He opened his eyes, rubbed them, and saw an IV drip attached to himself on his right hand. Sitting up slowly, he saw that he was in his bedroom at Baker street.

Wait.

He could see.

He rubbed his eyes to make sure it was real, to check that there was no permanent damage. None that he could detect. What a relief. He was so jubilant, he actually began to laugh out loud to himself.

The door lurched open and John entered with another bag to hook up to Sherlock's IV. When he noticed that he was awake and sitting up, he stood still, ogling at him.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, beaming.

John smiled back a little. "Hey. You've never been this happy to see me before. 'Spose it's the cocaine." He joked, walking to his bedside and hooking the second bag up to his drip.

Sherlock's grin reversed. "What cocaine?"

"Your withdrawals are nasty. We have to wean you off slowly," He said, pointing to the IV drip. Oh.

"Well, nevertheless, I am indeed very glad to see you."

"Yeah, wish I could say the same. You need to shave. And eat something."

Sherlock raised a hand to his face, feeling his prickly jaw and sunken cheeks. Just then Mary came in, still wearing a black body suit. She had removed her vest and gun harness, however. So, this was what assassins considered comfortable home attire.

"I thought I heard you," she said, coming to sit at his bedside. Sherlock kissed her hand, grateful to see her smiling face before his eyes.

"Thank you."

She nodded a 'you're welcome'. "Oh good, your vision's back then?"

"Yes, how did you do that?"

"Euphorbia plant species sap, causes fleeting blindness. Strong saline solution did the trick," said Norah, coming through the doorway holding Ava. She was clad in a form-fitting black suit similar to Mary's from their espionage. "Hi."

"Hi," replied Sherlock, grinning radiantly. He took in the sight of her, scanning every detail of her heavenly appearance just because he could. Her soft russet hair and her glimmering emerald eyes, her hourglass figure and her radiant smile. He wanted to shoo Mary and John out and simply kiss Norah all over, but he remembered that as of right now, they were broken up.

For now.

"I imagine you have some questions," Norah said, handing Ava to Mary and sitting on the other side of the bed. John took his place at the foot of the mattress.

"A few. Where was I?"

"Old brewery in Liverpool," answered Mary.

"Hmm. Creative. How'd you figure that one out?"

"Norah guessed that it was a brewery from rust on the walls, I simply did a bit of research. And hacking," Mary replied.

"And James Brook? What happened to him?"

"That's the problem, we don't know where he is."

"Of course we don't," Sherlock grunted, rolling his eyes. Slippery bastard.

"Mycroft decided that it would be best to have you home rather than at the hospital," John piped up. "Didn't want any bad press."

"Typical." Sherlock realized that his stomach was gurgling vehemently, and he clutched his gut.

"You were completely dehydrated when we found you, how long since you've eaten?" Norah asked.

"Truthfully, I couldn't tell you."

"I figured. I'll fix you something," she said, getting up and going back to the kitchen. He watched her walk away, tenderly.

Ava chortled in her mother's arms, and for the first time in months Sherlock got a good look at the baby. When did she get so big? He remembered such a small creature. Mary noticed him admiring her child, and offered her over to Sherlock. He picked up the infant carefully, smiling at her in his arms, until she reached up and latched onto one of his curls.

"Ow," he said, raising an eyebrow at Ava, who seemed to find his distain hilarious. Oh yeah, she was John's alright.

"We're glad you're okay mate," said John, lowing his voice. "Norah came back to find you, it was her who figured out that you'd been taken."

"…She came back? To the flat?" He wasn't aware that she had come back to see him before she witnessed the frightful broadcast.

"Yeah. You better start groveling," he joked.

Norah came back in with a sandwich on a plate. "I cleaned and re-stocked your fridge. You had some unintentional experiments growing in there," she said. She handed him the sandwich, which he began to scarf down zealously after giving Ava off to John.

Mary got up off the bed and nodded at her husband. "So we'll uh, we'll give you two a moment then." They exited quickly.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, as Norah rubbed her arm and stared at the floor.

"…Our," Sherlock said with a mouthful of food.

"Pardon?"

"Our refrigerator."

She took a seat next to him on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. "It _was_ our refrigerator."

"...I mucked up everything, didn't I? That's strike two," he joked half-heartedly, referring to leaving her eight years ago. "I'm actually quite shocked that you came back at all."

"Well, unfortunately, I'm still rather in love with you, so…" She said, trailing off and putting a hand over her face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to mention that-,"

"No, I'm sorry," he said, softening his brow. "You know I didn't mean anything that I said after the trial. You must know."

She scoffed wistfully. "You were pretty convincing, Sherlock…"

"Then allow me the privilege of spending the rest of my life making it up to you."

With wide eyes, she blinked at Sherlock. "…What?"

"Wait…that came out wrong…I didn't mean…we're not going to-,"

Norah chuckled at his tongue twisted-ness and the shade of pink that he turned. "I'm not expecting a ring,"

"Good. You're not getting one."

"Always the romantic," she said, punching his skinny arm. She then kissed the spot when she saw that her facetious jab made him wince.

"I'm just glad you're okay."

"…Are we good then?"

"Oh, most definitely not."

"Will you at least come back to London? The room upstairs needs a resident. I'm a recovering drug addict, I need supervision," he jested.

"Yeah, Molly's getting me my job back at Bart's and I need a place to sleep that's not John and Mary's couch. Not your girlfriend though."

"Fair enough." He bargained, suppressing a grin.

He yanked her forward into an eager kiss, which she accepted. She wasn't sure how long she could refuse him as his punishment. She could feel her will to resist cracking like each nerve in her tingling lips.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said, pulling away and dashing out of the room momentarily. Norah returned digging through her satchel. "I kicked this out of a moving box after I left, and it influenced me to come back. I thought you should have it." She found what she was looking for, and presented him with an antiquated pocket watch. Her father's.

Surprised and honored, Sherlock gingerly took the token and studied it, twirling it around in his fingers. It had a mother of pearl face set into a gold casing. He specifically remembered the gold chain hanging from Professor Sinclair's coat pocket in the lecture hall. He even recalled the story of how the watch came to be his; he won it in a wager when he was fifteen. He had bet a wealthy banker that he could deduce how much money he had in his wallet at the time.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He shook his head and tried to push it back into her hands, but Norah clasped his fingers around the prize.

"Keep it. It's yours."

Suddenly Norah found herself in a tight embrace, with Sherlock's face buried in the crook of her neck. "Thank you," he whispered into her skin, planting a peck on her shoulder. He smelled of peppermint and musk.

Yeah, Norah wasn't going to be able to keep up the 'I'm mad at you' charade for much longer.

She quickly pulled out of his arms and left the room, hoping to salvage her diminishing stoic morale. For once, Sherlock saw through her act, and suspected that if he played he cards right, he would win her over in no time at all. He laid back in bed, content.


	70. Chapter 63

Ch. 63

_A Few Months Later _

"He's been spotted in Berlin, and in Sochi." Mycroft said, pushing some photos across the desk towards Sherlock. "He's re-staffing."

Sherlock took the photos, burning James Brook's smug face with his eyes as he looked through them. "Re-staffing. Meaning?"

Mycroft folded his hands and set them on top of his desk. "New network. New dragons for you to slay in the east."

Heaving a sigh, Sherlock looked up from the photos at his brother. "You want me in London, you want me in Eastern Europe, for God sakes just pick one. There's only one of me."

"Let's face it Sherlock, you are Moriarty's favorite sport. He won't bother London if you're not there, and he won't be able to have his eyes on you. Meanwhile, you work on dismantling his beehive from the bottom up. We've been going about things the wrong way, you see. If you kill the queen bee first, the worker bees scatter. If you kill the worker bees one by one whilst they are concentrated in one place-,"

"Then the queen is left unprotected," said Sherlock, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Why me? Get your MI6 minions to do it. 007, perhaps?"

Mycroft's face scrunched up like he had just eaten something sour."…You're not supposed to know about that."

"Sometimes I read your emails for fun."

"…I'm going to pretend as though I didn't hear that. As much as I despise admitting this, we need you Sherlock. We need someone who thinks like him."

Sherlock peaked his fingertips under his chin and thought the proposal through thoroughly. He had just concluded his quest to destroy Moriarty's network all over Europe a little under two years ago. It all seemed like a waste now, having to go back and do it all over again. Besides, he rather liked his life in London at the present time.

"I can see that you're on the fence about it, so I'll make it worth your while. You will be compensated generously-,"

"I have no interest in money. You said that you were going to make it worth my while." Sherlock got up and began to leave the office, uninterested in his brother's offer.

"AND you will be considered a temporary mercenary, with full perks. Meaning that you will have license to kill."

Sherlock stopped, and turned back around. "…I'm listening."

"Courtroom dealings with James Brook have been a humiliating joke. We have more that enough evidence against the man, but we are without the power to incarcerate him due to his ability to assume his brother's identity." Circumspectly, Mycroft reached into his desk drawer and presented Sherlock with a Colt 1991 series pistol. "It has been decided that it would be in England's best interest to just be rid of him. If you find Moriarty once you've decimated his connections, he's yours."

The pistol felt light in Sherlock's hands as he picked it up from the desk to examine it with shifty eyes.

"Should be easy for you, you've had no problem with shooting bad men in the past."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Of course I'm not."

"…Have you told mother?"

"Mother and the papers are going to think that you've gone to work for the United States for a while."

"How long is this project estimated to take?"

"A year or so. The network is still in it's beginning stages, so we must nip it in the bud. We have a close contact on the inside who is helping a great deal with information."

"Who?"

"It's classified."

"And when would I depart?"

"As soon as possible."

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope. I can't until after Christmas. I promised mother I'd bring Norah 'round."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Is that your only condition?"

"No. I'll have to think about this."

"Very well, but do it in a timely manner," said Mycroft irritatedly. "I'm under a bit of pressure."

"What else is new?" Sherlock said, setting the gun back down on the desk and heading for his coat and the exit.

"Sherlock."

He turned back around, as he had done so many times as a child when Mycroft called his name in that condescending tone of voice. "Yes, what is it?"

"You do realize that you'll have to leave the Watsons and Norah, don't you?"

"It was implied…shall I fake my death again?"

"That won't be necessary. But it may be wise to cut some romantic ties in particular, in case something goes awry while you're away."

"…I understand."

"Good."

"_Merry Christmas Norah, I'm breaking up with you to go on a criminal killing spree in Eastern Europe," _Sherlock thought sarcastically and sorrowfully as he left.


	71. Chapter 64

Ch. 64

Sherlock arrived back at the flat to find Norah sitting at his desk on her laptop. She nodded to him as he came in. "Hello."

He started at his pocket watch. "…You're home from the hospital early," he said, eyeing her suspiciously as he hung up his coat and scarf.

"Some idiot spilled a vile of influenza in the lab and we were allowed to come home early. I wouldn't get near me if I were you," she said, ironically lighthearted.

"Oh, lovely. I was just visiting-,"

"Mycroft. I know. Billy texted me." She didn't look up from her computer as she said this.

Sherlock blinked at her. "Billy? Bill Wiggins?"

"I've been using your homeless network to look after you. Hope you don't mind," she smirked.

"You mean to spy on me to make sure I'm not purchasing drugs?"

"You could put it that way I suppose."

Sherlock would have been angry if he had the right to be. It was a valid precaution considering fairly recent events.

He was much better, and looked it. He had long since shaved his stubble, and was gaining his old weight back. He could no longer be likened to an emaciated stray dog. He had successfully given up the cocaine. Occasionally there were still cravings, but he curbed them with other things such as cases from clients, or tea…

Or trying to win Norah over again.

Norah had been more dedicated to making Sherlock earn her affections back than he anticipated. She waited until he was TOTALLY cleaned up. She only let him kiss her on occasion, she religiously slept in her own bed, no 'I love you's' were spoken out loud, and God knows how long it had been since they had sex or did anything of the sort. She even pretended that she went on a date with somebody else one night, which sent Sherlock into a jealous rage and nearly made Norah pee herself laughing. He tried everything in the books; flowers, chocolate, some hilariously bad poetry, frequent apologies, and violin playing. Still, she stood her ground.

She was winning the battle and it was exasperating Sherlock. Forget cocaine withdrawals, he was having _Norah_ withdrawals.

He craved much more than the physical, he craved the reassurance that she was his again. Norah saw this, and made sure to remind Sherlock that she was totally independent of him as often as she could. Just to torture him a bit.

Actually, though entertaining, the distance was killing Norah too. She anxiously awaited the time when she and Sherlock could just pick things up where they left off.

"It's still early, do you want to take a client or something?"

"No, not in the mood," he said, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the couch.

"Not in the mood? You're never 'not in the mood' for a case," Norah observed.

Sherlock sat in his chair laid his head back, closing his eyes. "I've got too much on my mind. Even _I _get overloaded on occasion."

Norah peered up from her computer screen at him, sprawled out on the chair with his feet on the adjacent chair. She wanted so much to curl up in a ball on his lap and stay there.

"Where are my nicotine patches?" He inquired, suddenly opening his eyes and looking around.

She couldn't tell you why, but it was in that mundane, fleeting moment when Sherlock's blue-green eyes fluttered back open that she decided that she had tortured him long enough. Well, _almost_.

One last bit of fun to be sure that he learned his lesson.

In the few seconds that it took for Sherlock to fetch a nicotine patch, Norah shot a quick text to John, alerting him that his suggestion for a trick to play on Sherlock was being set in motion.

Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket once he sat back down in his chair.

"Speak."

"Sherlock, is Norah there? I have her results to discuss with her and she isn't answering her phone."

He sat up. "…Results? What results?"

"Just put Norah on the phone."

"I will not until you tell me what's going on."

Norah pretended to watch ignorantly.

"Her liver biopsy came back. It doesn't look good. She's been drinking too much again."

"What? Her-, you-, what do you mean again?!"

"Well after she left London, she took up a bit of heavy drinking. Could you put her on the phone please?"

"NO." Sherlock promptly hung up, just in time to not hear John and Mary's hysterical laughter.

"What's the matter, why are you shouting?"

He shot up and confronted her. "You're an alcoholic?! Why didn't you say something?!

"Sherlock-,"

"DO you have any idea how much damage that can do to your body?! Your liver is failing!"

"Sherlock-,"

"How dare you destroy your magnificent brain cells in this way. I will not stand for this."

"SHERLOCK!"

"WHAT?!"

"…I'm not an alcoholic."

"Denial is not the answer, Norah."

"No, really. My liver is fine."

"…But John just-,"

"How's it feel to know that somebody you care about is hurting themselves?"

Sherlock understood what was going on now. His posture fell and he pursed his lips like a pranked schoolmaster.

"That was _not_ funny."

She smirked devilishly. "Oh, I agree. Alcoholism isn't a joke. Neither is substance abuse."

"You are insufferable," he said, throwing his hands up and walking away from her.

"Learned your lesson have you?"

"Yes! My God yes, I get it. I understand the repercussions that addiction can have on the people around me. Happy?"

"Yes, actually."

"Good, because I'm livid."

Norah hugged him from behind, grinning. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"What is it now?"

"Do you have a question you want to ask me?" she cooed.

Sherlock turned around and puzzled at her exceptionally giddy self.

"Now? Seriously? After that you want me to ask you?"

"I mean, If you're not going to ask-,"

"Norah," he sighed in defeat, stopping her as she was turning around to walk away from him.

"Yeeeeess?" She said, dragging the word out and raising her pitch for extra emphasis as she spun back around.

"…Can we…will you...be my…"

"Yes."

"I haven't finished what I was saying."

"I get the jist," she said as she jumped happily into his arms, kissing his face all over like she had desired to do for a long time. A wave of relief washed over Sherlock, dragging all of his previous anger out to sea.


	72. Chapter 65

Ch. 65

(Warning: A bit of a nudie chapter.)

Norah kissed the tiny circular scars on his forearm. Each and every one. She desired to draw them into constellations, to connect the dots to see what shapes she could find. She preferred to associate the track marks with stars rather than cocaine.

Sherlock sat back in bed, observing her. It was only four thirty in the afternoon, but he suspected that they would be spending the remainder of their day in bed, lazily making up for lost time. Norah finished kissing the scars and began to trace them with her fingers as she lay with her head on his chest.

"I do love you," He whispered into her wild and slightly damp hair.

"I know," she said, smiling.

"Norah."

She giggled. "Yeah yeah, I love you too."

The words no longer felt like a foreign language to him, although he still had reservations about saying them in front of people.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her about his and Mycroft's meeting. He should not have reconciled with her, in the event that he did choose to gallivant off to the east.

But he simply couldn't remain in that romantic purgatory with Norah, he _needed_ her. She was going to kill him if he left again.

"…What's troubling you?" She asked, noticing that he was deep in thought.

He wiped the concern from his face. "Hm? Nothing. Just staring at the ceiling."

"You're never _just_ staring at the ceiling. Talk to me."

It was going to come up eventually, but he didn't want to spoil this perfect, serene moment.

"Is it about Brook? He's been inactive for a while…"

"No. Just Mycroft tormenting me. The usual." He said, tersely.

"…Okay." She knew he was lying but she didn't want to push it. She didn't want to ruin their day either.

"What _were _you up to while you were away? I never asked," he said, trying to change the subject.

"I don't want to talk about it. Lots of crying. Really pathetic."

"I'm still sorry. I wasn't prospering either if it makes you feel any better."

"No no, it's alright, it's over now. I did have the urge to wander onto a crime scene once, though."

Sherlock smiled proudly, painting a mental picture. "You should have. You probably would have solved it."

"Nah, the world only needs one consulting detective," she said, looking up at him.

"And that one consulting detective needs _you_," he said. He savored the sensation of her nuzzling closer to him.

"…I was so wrong, wasn't I? It doesn't happen often," Sherlock said all of the sudden. "It's strange."

"Wrong about what?"

"Love. Sentiment. It's actually very beneficial. Symbiotic relationships work in the animal kingdom all the time. I feel as if I've gained a great deal from this cohabitation."

"Yes, by all means Sherlock, talk dirty to me," Norah joked, rolling over so that she was on top of him. "You flirt in the weirdest ways."

"You of all people should know that I express myself very differently than boring people. That was a massive compliment. I'm told I'm not usually very good at those."

"I know. I'm just teasing. I quite glad that you feel that way now. I've ruined you." She feigned a diabolical laugh then leaned in to kiss him.

"Hey," she said, remaining close to his face. "I have an experiment for you."

"Yes? What kind of experiment?"

"Human libido. How many times could two people copulate in one evening?" She asked, lowering her voice and raising an eyebrow.

Sherlock cocked his head, thinking intently, completely missing her intentions. "Well, that would depend on-,"

"Oh for Heaven's sake man, take a hint," she said, before proceeding to kiss him again. Luckily they had no clothes to remove, so the experiment was underway rather quickly.

Sherlock rolled her over onto her back, caressing her thigh as it wrapped around him. He decided to try something new, you know, in the spirit of the experiment, and slowly moved his hand to her inner thigh until he had pressed a finger to her core.

Norah gasped loudly and jumped. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he said, immediately sitting up to check that she was alright. "Not working?"

"Oh my God yes, definitely working," she exhaled, sitting up to meet him and straddling his thighs. Upon her cue he did it again, eliciting another sharp breath from Norah.

_"Got you. I win this time,"_ He thought selfishly, maneuvering his thumb around and causing her hips to buck.

"Sherlock," she said breathlessly against his neck. "Where did you learn to-,"

"…Erm…"

Norah realized which dominatrix in particular he must have studied under (literally).

"Never mind. Don't answer that," she said, banishing a mental image and focusing on the 'experiment' at hand.

…

"What were the results?" Norah mumbled into his neck with morning breath when the sun came up.

"Inconclusive," he muttered back. "Lost count. Further tests are needed."


	73. Chapter 66

Ch. 66

The scent of cinnamon and evergreen hung in the air in London around the Holidays.

The annual Christmas Eve party this year was held at the Watson's, and was an all day affair. Mrs. Holmes arrived early with her husband to help Mary and Norah prepare food, while Siger entertained Ava and talked with John. He was a bit of a sucker for children. Molly and Greg were in charge of bringing spiced apple cider, and they did just that. A whole bucket of it. Mrs. Hudson brought some indiscernible finger foods that nobody seemed to want to touch. Mycroft turned down the invitation because he was working, but he promised to attend Christmas dinner the next day at the Holmes household. Sergeant Donovan and Anderson even made an appearance.

Sherlock spotted them first when they came into the living room, Sally holding a platter of Christmas cookies and Anderson a bottle of MaCallan.

"What are you two doing here?" Sherlock asked, scrutinizing them.

"We were invited. Happy Christmas freak," Sally snapped back.

Anderson looked past Sherlock and smiled. "Hi Norah," he waved, examining her in the beaded champagne-colored cocktail dress she was wearing. She waved back, and tugged her cardigan over herself. "You look, wow, erm, delightful."

"She always looks like that," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes at Anderson.

"Oh, of course she does, I just meant-,"

"Of course you did. John, Lestrade, care for a whiskey?" Sherlock asked, snatching the bottle from Anderson and taking it back to the kitchen.

"Dear me Norah, you have a frightful bruise on your shoulder," Violet observed as she walked by with a glass of cider.

Norah looked at the healing purple spot on near her collarbone. "Oh, yes, erm, I ran into a door."

"Well you'd best be careful around those, they're everywhere!" Violet chuckled as she went back to mashing potatoes in the kitchen.

Norah quickly covered up the bruise with her cardigan. Sherlock had not been terribly careful with his teeth. She looked up to find him smirking knowingly at her. He side-eyed Anderson then looked back at her and mouthed _"Mine"_.

She pointed her turkey baster at him as threateningly as she could, but she just ended up looking silly.

Dinner was delicious and the conversation was merry. Sherlock was behaving himself well enough considering Anderson was present. They all seemed like a perfectly ordinary happy family.

Until:

"Sherlock dear, Mycroft mentioned you were taking an extended trip to the U.S. rather soon? When are you leaving?" his mother asked.

Everybody looked up from their meal as Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes.

"Trip? What trip?" asked John.

"Didn't Mycroft also mention that my 'trip' was to remain a secret?"

"Well, yes, but this is family. There are no secrets among family," she said cheerily, unaware of the bomb she had just dropped. Sherlock wondered how the secrets of the British government were not frequently leaked by his mother from Mycroft.

Norah swallowed a green bean with difficulty before she had chewed it fully. "Why are you going to the states?"

"I was going to bring it up at the right time, not _Christmas Eve dinner_!"

"Hey, don't shout," said Mary, motioning to Ava.

Sherlock got up from his seat, throwing his napkin on his plate, and went out the back door.

"…Should you go after him?" Greg asked, looking at Norah as if her dog had just got loose from its leash.

"He'll come 'round," Siger reassured him.

"What's this trip he's talking about? Are you two going on holiday?" Mary asked Norah.

"I have absolutely no idea," she replied, watching Sherlock's silhouette though the sliding glass door.

John stood and went in the same direction his friend did. "I'll go. You finish eating." He wiped his face and set his napkin on his chair.

Once he had closed the door behind him, Mrs. Hudson pouted at her gravy-drowned plate. "And we almost made it through without any fuss. We were so close."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Molly asked mirthfully. The glass was always half full for Molly. Greg smiled at her adoringly.

…

"You can always count on me to ruin Christmas," Sherlock said as he heard John's familiar footsteps. He plodded like a marching soldier. Sherlock could always tell when John was walking behind him.

"Eh, the party was a little too mundane for our lot. It needed some drama."

Sherlock smiled at John as he came up alongside him. "And I can always count on _you_ to crave a little disorder."

His skin beginning to feel the effects of the crisp December air, John shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "So, what's this holiday then?"

"Hardly a holiday. Mycroft's asked me to disassemble Moriarty's reemerging network in the east," he said casually.

John shot him a look of distress. "You-, You're leaving again?"

"Well, I haven't given him a definitive answer as of yet."

"…Which answer are you leaning towards?"

"I don't know. It would be a surefire way to keep James Brook out of London and away from your family. I don't want his eye on Ava. I simply won't have that."

"Me neither, but…you haven't told Norah yet."

"I haven't found an opportunity to. I'm not looking forward to the look on her…" he trailed off. "I suppose I'll have to tell her now."

"Well, Anderson will be heartbroken if you go," John jested for some comic relief. Sherlock snickered.

"…If I do leave, I will sincerely miss you, John."

"You too, mate." He patted him on the back.

"You know, if you can find a long-term babysitter, you and Mary are welcome to join me."

John laughed at this. "Not this time, sorry Sherlock."

"Worth a try."

"Just promise me that if you fake your death, you'll let me in on it this time."

Sherlock just chuckled.

...

They returned to the party when desert and coffee were being served, perfect timing.

"Can we wait till we get home to discuss that episode?" Sherlock asked, coming to Norah's side and placing his hand around her back.

She spooned a bite of chocolate pie into his mouth. "Of course." He took the bite, then realizing what he had just done, made an acrimonious face and removed his arm from her.

"We're disgusting. You just fed me from a spoon. We've become the couple that I roll my eyes at in other social settings."

"Yeah, the disgustingly adorable couple," she said, taking a bite herself and thwacking him in the stomach.

The lighthearted banter concealed her dread for their conversation concerning this mysterious trip.


	74. Chapter 67

Ch. 67

Sherlock helped a slightly inebriated Mrs. Hudson into her flat before he and Norah climbed the stairs to their own floor.

"That was a nice evening," Norah said as they closed the door behind themselves.

"Yes, I'd say so. For the most part."

They both removed their coats and hung them up in unison.

Norah watched Sherlock as he stalked to his bedroom to change. He hadn't seemed exceptionally abnormal, so it couldn't have been anything too serious. The past few days, he had just been lost in his own thoughts more than usual. She brushed it off as nothing until the sudden mention of his trip tonight at the dinner table.

Actually, Sherlock seemed to have more trouble making decisions recently, Norah realized. He would spend ten minutes looking through the fridge or the cupboards for a bite to eat, only to give up on snacking altogether. He would sit in his chair, then get back up, then sit back down, and so on. This suggested that he felt conflicted about something greater than those little decisions. Now that she thought about it, he had been acting a bit out of the ordinary. But he was Sherlock Holmes. Ordinary was always relative with him.

Sherlock emerged from the bedroom in silk pants and a robe. "Would you care to change out of your dress before we chat?" He held one of his grey t-shirts for her.

"Oh, I'm alright," Norah assured him. She was too impatient to waste time changing.

He threw the shirt aside and sat down in his chair, motioning for her to sit in John's. She did so, studying his melancholy expression. She suddenly became much more nervous than she had been at the party.

"Mycroft has offered me a job," he stated, avoiding her eyes.

"…Oh." Well that wasn't so bad. Norah furrowed her brow. "That's it? A job?"

"Well, it would require a bit of traveling."

"Right, to the U.S."

"No, actually," he corrected her. "He wants me in eastern Europe."

Oh.

"…Is this for MI6?"

"Sort of."

"It has to do with James Brook, doesn't it? You wouldn't even be considering this if it didn't."

"I've been requested to destroy his new Trans-European checkerboard."

"For how long would you be gone?"

"A year, at least."

Norah heaved a fluttering sigh and bit her lip. This was rather drastic. Was it selfish of her to want him to stay there with her?

"I haven't taken him up on his offer yet, I wanted to talk to you first. I would have mentioned it sooner, but every time I resolved to tell you, you would say something amusing or smile your…big stupid smile, or even _breathe_ beautifully and I just…I couldn't. I'm sorry to do it on Christmas Eve."

"It's okay. You hate Christmas."

"But you don't."

"Sherlock…" She didn't know what to say. Well actually, she did. She wanted to scream for him not to go, to let the rest of Europe go to hell so long as she could have him in her world.

"I promised you I wouldn't leave again, I know that. However, this seems like the best way to be rid of James Brook and his following for good. My absence would draw him out of London, so you and the Watsons would be safe."

"What about you? What if you get hurt?"

"Getting hurt is inevitable."

"That makes me feel _SO_ much better, thank you."

"Sorry." He reached across the space between them and took her hand. "I feel obligated to tie up this loose end. I can't simply ignore Moriarty until he hurts somebody else I care for." He turned her hand over so that he could run his fingers along her palm. "But, I hope you know that it would not be easy for me to leave. I've been tormented by it for days. But you probably noticed that."

Norah laughed at herself, because she was being foolish and crying. She cried too much.

"Then don't go," she finally said, speaking her mind. "Leave this case unfinished. Just this one."

"I can't do that. You know I can't.

Norah just nodded solemnly.

"I'm going to have to break my promise to you. I'm so sorry."

"Why you? Why not get somebody else to dot it?"

"I'm afraid I'm somewhat of a Moriarty expert. My experience in dealing with him is…required."

"If you die, I'll never forgive you," she said, wiping her nose.

He hated to see her cry. He hated the thought that he was deserting her like he had after her father died. This time, he was making sure to properly say goodbye. Sherlock stood up and lifted Norah up from her seat. He wrapped her in am embrace so ardent and full of regret that she didn't let him go for a long while.

And then she had a thought.

She finally released him from her clutches, and wiped her tears. She felt much better all of the sudden. "I'll take that t-shirt now," she said. Sherlock nodded and went to fetch it for her, while she sent a quick text to Molly.


	75. Chapter 68

Ch. 68

Norah seemed in a much better mood the next day, much to Sherlock's surprise. Probably just because it was Christmas, he told himself. Maybe it was a good idea to tell Norah last night after all, because she had the holiday spirit to cheer her up.

She woke up early before him and made a big, lavish Christmas breakfast. Sherlock didn't see the point, but he didn't mention that to her of course. They both sat in the kitchen, eating cinnamon pull-apart bread and making small talk. Neither of them dared bring up the topic of Sherlock's leaving.

They left the flat early to make it to Sherlock's parents house in time. Mycroft answered the door upon their arrival.

"If possible, refrain from drugging us all this year," Mycroft chided his brother.

"Merry Christmas to you too."

"Boys, behave yourselves," Siger said, ushering Norah in and handing her a glass of eggnog. "Come in dear, Violet's got some bread cheese out."

"Thank you," said Norah, taking Mr. Holmes' arm and letting him escort her to the kitchen.

Mycroft and Sherlock remained in the doorway.

"Have you reached a decision on my offer?"

"I have."

"And?"

Sherlock looked at Norah, talking and laughing with his parents in the kitchen.

"And I'm going to take you up on it."

"Ah, brilliant. I see you haven't told her yet."

"Oh no, I have. Last night."

Mycroft puzzled at Norah's cheerful mood.

"…Then why is she smiling so much?"

"I was wondering the same…"

The Holmes boys stared at the joyful Norah with befuddled expressions.

"Sherlock! Be a dear, help mummy in the kitchen. Norah did some cooking yesterday, it's your turn," Violet said, approaching and putting a slotted spoon into his hand.

Reluctantly, he took off his coat and stalked to the kitchen to join her. "Only if you stop referring to yourself in the third person."

"Mycroft, you too. You can do the artichokes. You relax, Norah."

"Actually, Mycroft, could I have a word?" Norah asked, motioning to the backyard. The kitchen went silent for a moment. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at her, as did Mycroft.

"Erm, yes. Certainly," he replied. She smiled innocently and headed for the back door. Whilst following her, Mycroft turned back to Sherlock and pointed as if to ask _'what's this about?'_ Sherlock shrugged, just as baffled as his brother.

...

Sherlock was having a difficult time peeling potatoes. The task was simple enough, but he kept getting distracted by Norah and Mycroft's conversation outside. He could just make out their faces through a gap in the shudders. They had been out there for quite some time, and he was becoming concerned.

He yelped and looked away from the window when he knicked his finger with the potato peeler.

"What are they getting on about?" Siger asked his son over the top of his newspaper.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he said, briefly sticking his injured finger in his mouth.

"Well, it's a good thing that they're getting along," Violet chirped over the stove. "It's important to get along with your future in-laws."

Sherlock cut his finger again and swore loudly, throwing the offending kitchen utensil onto the floor. "Future in-laws?! What could you possibly mean?!"

His mother turned from her pots in pans to face him. "…Well you are going to marry her, aren't you?"

"Don't get your hopes up, mother." He blinked at her, outraged by the suggestion.

"Sherlock, she's the only woman I've ever seen you get along with romantically. She's wonderful!"

"I'm very aware of that. I've chosen to enter a relationship with her. Why must I marry her to prove that I think she's wonderful?"

"That's what people do Sherlock, they get married." She said, waving a spatula at him.

"Yes, then they fight and get divorced. Or they kill each other, and I get called in to examine their bodies. Marriage is unnecessary."

"I don't know, your mother and I have done pretty well for ourselves I think," said Mr. Holmes, putting his paper down to join the discussion.

"That's different. You two are an exception."

"John and Mary?" Siger asked.

"…Also an exception"

Violet rolled her eyes. For a regular genius, her son could be incredibly thick. "Sherlock, have you thought about what _she_ wants?"

"I…well…I told her not to expect a ring and she's stayed with me this long."

Siger chuckled under his breath. "Can't imagine how," he said. Sherlock glared at him.

"I bet you if you asked her, she'd say yes in an instant," said Mrs. Holmes.

"Well of course she would, it's just that…"

"What are you afraid of? You're already committed to her, you're living together, what would it do besides give your father and I a little satisfaction in our old age?"

"I've got my mother's wedding ring somewhere," his father said, recalling where he might have put the antique. He steepled his hands under his chin like Sherlock often did. Like father, like son.

Elated, Violet clapped her hands together. "You could ask her tonight!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Look Sherlock, I want grandchildren before I die, and I've given up on your brothers-,"

"I'm going to go see what's taking them so long!" Sherlock shouted, overloaded by the nagging. He rushed out of the room as quickly as possible.


	76. Chapter 69

Ch. 69

When Sherlock reached the back door behind which Norah and Mycroft were talking, he cracked it open just a bit and stuck his ear to the space.

"Well, you certainly are committed to him," said Mycroft. Sherlock heard a pause in the conversation, sure that Mycroft was taking a drag of his annual Christmas cigarette.

"I am," Norah replied, matter-of-fact-ly.

"I'm grateful for that. As much as he'll deny it, he needs somebody. You're entirely sure about this?"

"I am."

Another pause. What were they talking about?

"Sherlock, I know you're listening," Norah said, picking up a pebble and throwing it at the door. Of course she knew. He swung it open and walked out to join them. He did a double take when he saw Norah holding a burning cigarette as well.

"You don't smoke," he said, snatching it from her fingers and taking a long, heavenly drag. Oh, how he missed smoking.

Norah ruffled up his hair. "Mycroft gave me your Christmas cigarette. Sorry." She then began to cough. "Disgusting, those things," she wheezed.

"What were you two talking about?"

"It's a secret." Norah whispered playfully.

"Of course it is." Sherlock inhaled on the cigarette again. "Ugh. Low tar."

"Will you all come inside? It's freezing out-… boys! You put those cigarettes down this instant!"

"Yeah, put them down!" Norah scolded sarcastically.

"Sorry mum," the brothers said in unison, flicking the cigarettes to the ground as they all trudged inside for dinner.

After the big meal, everyone moved to the living room to drink eggnog by the fireplace (except for Sherlock, who despised the stuff. Too sweet.) Siger put on some old Bing Crosby Christmas music and took his wife's hand to dance with her. Sherlock, always up for a dance, pulled Norah up out of her seat and into his swaying embrace as well. Mycroft was perfectly contented to be by himself, and stared into the fire while enjoying the music.

"Do you remember the Dean's Ball? End of my first year?" Norah asked him, smiling as she fondly recalled that good memory.

"Of course I do. I remember dancing with you all night."

"Everyone was surprised that you _could_ dance. They kept staring at us weirdly."

"I love dancing," he said, spinning her out and then back to him. She got closer and pressed her cheek to his.

"I know. I love being your partner."

Sherlock dipped her. "I remember exactly what you were wearing too," he said.

"You do? I don't remember what I wore..."

"A simple teal gown. Your hair was down. You had on some sort of enchanting vanilla perfume."

"Oh, that's right. Bless your photographic memory."

"And Rich Heathrow couldn't take his eyes off you. Nobody could. I couldn't."

"Oh yes, Rich Heathrow! What ever happened to him?"

"I think he squandered his fortune gambling and is a part of my homeless network now."

She hit him. "You're fibbing!"

"Okay, that was a lie." They laughed amongst themselves as Sherlock's parents eyed them closely.

Norah began to whisper. "That was the first night we-,"

"Ah yes, I remember that too," he whispered back, winking. "Oh, but almost forgot this."

He let go of her momentarily and went to his coat hanging by the door. Carefully, he reached in the pocket and pulled out a small black jewelry box.

Norah's heart stopped.

"Sherlock…"

He looked up at Norah, who had reached out to support herself on the chair, then back down at the box.

"Oh good! You've bought your own ring!" His mother cheered.

"What? No, this isn't-," Sherlock's palm came into contact with his forehead. "I'm sorry, it's not what you think it is…"

Norah fanned herself swiftly, trying to put some air back into her lungs. "No no, it's fine, it's fine, totally fine."

"…Are you alright?" Mycroft asked her, standing to hold her up.

"Yeah, I just need to…catch my breath for a moment…" She sucked in some deep breaths.

Sherlock looked back down pathetically at the little box. He had gotten her hopes up, and he felt badly. "It's a good thing I didn't propose, might've given you a heart palpitation," he joked to hide his embarrassment.

"We, erm," Norah said, finally able to stand on her own. "I thought we agreed no presents."

"I know. But I saw this and…well…just open it." He tossed the box to her and she caught it.

Delicately, she peeled open the lid to reveal a little silver bracelet. It was a small simple chain, with two interlocking handcuffs for a clasp.

"Partner in crime…solving," he muttered with a hint of a smile.

"…Is this still a proposal?"

"No, mother!"

"Oh Sherlock," Norah sighed, admiring the small novelty. It was so _him. _A little piece of him to keep while he was away. How perfect.

Sherlock removed the chain for the box and clipped it around her wrist, admiring the way the silver looked against her alabaster skin. "ANd John didn't even help me pick this out," he joked. Yes, this would do nicely while he was gone.

…

"Merry Christmas," he whispered to her as she slept soundly against him. A twinge of regret rose in him each time Norah's chest rose and fell.

Goodbye was just too soon.


	77. Chapter 70

We have come to the end! (WOOOOOO) or (BOOOOOOO). There will be an epilogue after this concluding chapter so stay tuned for that, and be ready for the sequel to "The Girl in the Ruby Coat" which will be coming out in a few weeks! :D Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

Ch. 70

The airfield was surprisingly quiet. John didn't like it, it didn't sit well with him. It left room for the thoughts in his head to make him more upset. Thank God for his daughter, babbling away in his arms and distracting him.

"She's not here yet," Mary muttered to him, watching Sherlock unload his things from the car.

"She had work this morning. She'll be here."

"Who goes to work the morning of their significant other's departure for a dangerous MI6 mission? Isn't he going to-,"

"She'll be here," John reassured her.

"…How's he feeling about it all?"

"Well, he's put the consulting business on hold, obviously. He _expects _to return within the year."

"Yes, but how is he _feeling_?"

"Oh, right. I don't think he's quite convinced that he wants to do this."

"Poor Norah…"

"Poor _Sherlock_."

Sherlock had very few things to bring. He imagined that he would be on the move most of the time, so traveling light was essential.

"Is that everything of yours?" Mycroft asked him once all of his things were loaded.

"It is."

"Good, we can get started on the rest of it then."

"…The rest of it?"

Sherlock became very confused when another car pulled up and Mycroft's men began to load its luggage onto the jet as well. John and Mary puzzled at the other vehicle.

"Hang on, those aren't my bags," said Sherlock.

"I know, they're mine."

Sherlock turned around to find Norah getting out of the car. She was dressed very properly in a sleek black skirt suit. Her hair was done up nicely and she was wearing high heels. She looked…official.

"…What is this? What's going on?"

"It seems that you are going to be bringing an accomplice with you. Your partner in crime solving, as you put it."

Sherlock looked to Norah then to Mycroft, then to Norah again.

"…No!"

"Yes," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"No! For God sakes, no. It's too dangerous for her."

"Hang on, you're going with him?" John asked, approaching them.

"No, she isn't."

"Yes, I am!"

"What about your job?" Sherlock asked interrogatively.

"I quit this morning."

"What-, you-…Mycroft!"

"She made a very convincing argument. You don't work well by yourself, as much as you'd like to think so. Besides, she's plenty cunning and she does have some combat training."

"Combat training? Barely! I thought the idea was to _protect_ her, not throw her into the line of fire!"

"I was going to assign you a partner anyway. She volunteered."

"Then assign me a trained operative, not _her!"_

"Oo, this is really nice!" Sherlock hadn't noticed that Norah had climbed the stairs and was looking around the interior of the jet.

"Norah, get down from there."

She heaved a sigh and plodded back down the stairs.

"When was this decided?!"

"Christmas," replied Mycroft.

"And I wasn't told because…?"

"Because you would have opposed the decision, obviously. I had to wait until it was too late for you to say no." Norah smirked triumphantly as she stood next to Mycroft.

"Too late? What do you mean too late?"

"Sorry Sherlock, the paperwork has already gone through," his brother said.

Sherlock's veins nearly popped out of his neck. Not sure who's side they were on, John and Mary spectated from the sidelines.

"So reverse the damn paperwork!" he spat at him.

"I can't do that this time."

Desperately, he took her shoulders. "Listen to me Norah, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"No, I don't. But I know with whom I'm getting into it. And that's good enough for me." She smiled like a disobedient teenager, satisfied with his rage.

"Why couldn't you just bid me farewell with a white handkerchief like a normal person?!"

"…Because you don't like normal."

Touché.

"The time for arguing is overdue," said Mycroft, spinning his umbrella about. "You're flight is departing soon. Think of this as one less goodbye you have to waste time on."

"You...but..."

Sherlock's brow softened as he gazed at the intrepid woman before him, all dressed up and ready for anything. She was literally putting her life on hold to follow him into certain danger for an entire year. That was…humbling. Amid his rage, he felt a ping of his affection for her rise up in his chest. Never in a million years did Sherlock Holmes expect to have a best friend, but there John Watson was, standing beside him with his beautiful baby girl. Never in a billion years did Sherlock fathom having a soul mate, that one person that everybody seemed to be wasting their time searching for. Yes, he was certain he was in love. He had been. He just didn't know what to call it before. And there was no way he was leaving Norah behind on the runway. Partners in crime solving, indeed.

He looked at John, Mary and Ava, defeated. "You sure that you lot don't want to join too? We might as well invite everybody."

"I've had my fair share, thanks," said Mary, hugging Sherlock tightly and kissing his cheek, then repeating the farewell for Norah. "Make sure he behaves himself."

"I'll keep him in line," Norah assured her. She would miss Mary's companionship very much.

Sherlock gently took Ava from John and sat her on his hip. "Make sure you make lots of trouble for mummy and daddy. I won't be able to for a while." He kissed the munchkin on the forehead and handed her to Norah to snuggle.

Then there was John.

"Déjà vu," the soldier remarked, recalling nearly this time last year when he thought it would be the last time he ever saw Sherlock. If Sherlock ended up never coming home, he was grateful for the extra year with him. Grateful the Sherlock was there for the birth of Ava, that he was able to watch him find with Norah what he found with Mary, that he was able to still solve a crime or two with him. John Watson wasn't sad this time around. He was grateful.

Who was he kidding? of course Sherlock was coming home. He was Sherlock Holmes.

"I'd say 'to the very best of times', but I expect there to be more good times in the future."

"I look forward to it."

"This isn't goodbye, John."

"I know. It's just 'see you later'."

The boys smiled at each other and embraced. A year wasn't so long.

John hugged Norah next. "Thank you."

"…What are you thanking me for?"

"You know exactly what I'm thanking you for," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Stay safe, both of you. Please."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his impulsive female friend. "No promises."

Mycroft waited at the foot of the stairway for them. "Goodbye, Sherlock," he said cordially, sticking out his hand. His brother shook it.

"Mycroft." It was the most respectful John had ever seen them behave towards each other.

He stuck his hand out to Norah as well, but she smushed it in a tight hug instead. Hugs did not compute for Mycroft, so he looked entirely uncomfortable the whole time.

"Sherlock!" John called, prompting his friend to turn around on the stairs once Norah had boarded.

"…Yes?"

John held up his wife's left hand to him and raised his eyebrows, pointing.

Sherlock smirked sideways. "Change of plans." With that, he boarded and the pair was off, watching the Watsons and Mycroft disappear on the runway as they headed for new horizons.

…

They sat on either side of the craft, staring out their windows.

"There's no getting rid of me now," Norah said, as London got smaller and smaller below them.

"I'm still furious with you."

She smiled at the world below. "I know."

"Oh, look at that," Sherlock said after taking out his phone. "It's been exactly a year." He didn't need to take out his phone to figure it out; he had known about the date for a while.

Norah turned away from the view. "A year since what?"

"Exactly one year ago, you asked me if I was authorized to be in your lab."

Norah nodded, recalling that fateful reunion. She wondered what might have happened if she hadn't been the one delivering his DNA test results. She wondered if it all would have been different, or if they would have encountered one another some other way and if the same string of events would have followed. Wondering didn't matter though. She wouldn't have changed anything.

"It's been quite an eventful year," was all she had to say.

"It has, indeed."

"…While you're up, could you fetch me a bottled water from the front?" Sherlock asked her, his eyes fixed on his window.

Norah turned to look at him, agitated. "…But I'm not up."

"Actually, I'll take two bottled waters, please."

She scoffed indignantly, shaking her head as she stood. Moment ruined. If this was how this mission was going to go, she might have made a mistake in coming along. She would not stand for being treated like a sidekick.

When she returned Sherlock hadn't seemed to have moved, except now he was holding a small wooden jewelry box on the arm of his seat. She stopped, her grasp tightening around the two water bottles.

"…What is that?" she asked.

With a knowing crooked smirk, Sherlock looked at the box then back out his window. "You know, perhaps it's a good thing that you're coming along. As we've discovered, we don't do so well apart, now do we?" he drummed his fingers against the box, feeling the smooth cherry wood in his palm.

"…What do you mean?" Her eyes were still fixed on the wooden trinket.

He stood and buttoned his jacket, prying the water bottles from her clutches and setting them down as she gawked at him. "Norah, I am altogether a rude, unfeeling, unpleasant person."

"Sherlock-,"

"I have an addictive personality."

"What-,"

"And it would seem that I don't prosper by myself. But I've found that I prosper with your companionship, which, surprisingly, you give willingly to me despite the above drawbacks." He smiled fondly, standing before her like a citadel, tall and straight and sure.

"…Sherlock," Norah exhaled, her eyes wide, blinking a mile a minute, apprehensive as she could be, her lip quivering. "What is in that box?"

He placed it into her shaking hands. "Since you're accompanying me for this undertaking, I have one stipulation."

Norah's hand flew to her mouth when she slowly unlatched the lid and gasped at the diamond ring inside.

It was small and thin, with an oval cut stone set into beautifully woven white gold band. Simple, yet elegant. The ring had belonged to his grandmother.

"If and when we return to London, Eleanor Sinclair, will you marry me?"

He was correct about the heart palpitation; Her heartbeat sped up so fast, she swore the organ was going to burst within her chest. She swayed slightly, her balance wavering. But Sherlock reached out to hold her up.

"…What did you just ask me?"

"You heard me correctly. The cabin pressure isn't compromising your hearing."

"You. Sherlock Holmes. You, you want to get…" she sputtered, unable to really think clearly as she looked longingly at the ring.

"Married? Yes. I was planning on spending the rest of my days in your company anyway. There can't be too much of a difference, can there? Some tax benefits, perhaps," he spoke in a business like manner, but he felt a fluttering in his gut. Is this what normal people called butterflies?

She leaned against the chair, having a similar episode to Christmas. "Why? Why are you asking me this now? You hate marriage…" The infernal lump was rising in her throat as she spoke in utter bewilderment, the jewelry box frozen in her fingers.

"…Perhaps I'm not as high above matrimony as I thought I was. Perhaps I've just found the right person, as John would say. Perhaps the person changed my outlook on a lot of things, and I don't mind saying some vows to prove to her how much I care."

Norah was speechless. Utterly speechless. Silent tears flowed from her eyes as she searched his face. If this was a joke to get back at her for coming with him, it was not funny.

"Perhaps I saw how excited you were when you thought I was giving you a ring, and I decided that I actually wanted to see you that happy."

Still, she could say nothing, she just blinked at him with red, puffy, teary eyes. Never in a billion years did Sherlock Holmes think he would have her. Never in a trillion did Norah think he would _propose_.

"…It's customary to give an answer after somebody proposes to you," he said, taking the ring from the box and gently sliding it onto her finger. He knew the answer already.

Finally, Norah released the breath that she had been holding and threw her arms around him. He beamed a toothy grin, knowing that that was enough of an answer.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes." She said, kissing him in between each affirmation.

"Good," he muttered, wiping a tear on her cheek with his thumb. Norah. His Norah. He looked at her closely, unable to read her. All he could deduce was:

Happy.

"...Strange."

"What, what's strange?" Norah asked.

"This does't feel like losing at all."

"...What?"

"Nevermind," he said, wrapping his big steady hand behind her neck and hushing her with a kiss.

He pulled away slowly, enjoying the moment, then ducked his head and looked back out the window at the wispy white cloud line. "We just have to…take care of a bit of business first, don't we?" he said.

Norah wiped her face and collected herself. "Business shmusiness. _The game is on, _darling," she replied, a fire igniting behind her green eyes that made the one freckle in her iris glitter.

A smoky grin crept across Sherlock's face, as the same inferno began to kindle within himself.

"So it is. The game is most definitely on."


	78. Epilogue

Epilogue

_One Month Later_

"Greggie?"

"Yes, cupcake?" Greg Lestrade asked at the breakfast table, looking over his newspaper at his lovely pathologist girlfriend.

"We got a postcard from Boston!" Molly pushed a card across the table to him that showed a view of Fenway park, with "BOSTON" written across it in big gaudy lettering.

He set down the newspaper, puzzled. "…From who?" he asked, picking up the card to examine the front. "If it's from my ex-wife and her PE teacher, you can burn it."

Molly giggled and stirred her tea. "Turn it over."

He did so.

_Greg and Molly,_

_ Thinking of you two while we're away. Missing our friends._

_ Love, Sherlock and Norah_

_P.S. Norah made me sign this._

The last bit was crossed out.

"Those sneaky bastards," he chuckled, flipping the card back over. "They're going through a great deal of trouble to make this look convincing. Mycroft probably sent ta card to the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson, too."

"Where are they, actually? Can I know?" Molly inquired.

"Training facility in Mongolia, currently. They'll train for another month before they ship out to Croatia. Moriarty's got a big drug smuggling headquarters down there."

"They're like, secret agents."

"…Molly why are you whispering?"

"Because it's a secret!" she whispered excitedly.

…

"Really, Mycroft? Seriously?" John scoffed, flipping through the mail on the counter one morning.

"What's he done?" Mary asked lazily from the couch, with Ava curled up in her arms.

John marched to her and held a postcard in front of her face. The card made Mary smile.

"Tampa, Florida huh?"

"Apparently. It says, 'Wish you were here on our holiday, thinking of your family often. Lots of love, Sherlock and Norah. P.S, A word of caution, don't feed alligators.' Are we going to get one of these every few months? Is that some sort of subscription I can cancel?" John asked, tossing the card onto the coffee table and sitting down next to his wife.

"It's code, John. It's Mycroft's way of telling us that they're okay."

John furrowed his brow and picked the card back up. "Oh. That's actually very…reassuring."

"It's a commonly used technique among the intelligence community," she said.

Sleepily, he nuzzled his nose against Mary's shoulder. "What would I do without that assassin brain of yours?"

…

"James, mail for you," The woman said, strutting into his office and throwing him the card.

With frightfully good dexterity, James Brook caught the card and examined it. Chicago. Irene sat on the edge of his desk and looked on.

The consulting criminal giggled unsettlingly. "Somebody loves me," he said in a sing-songy voice, flipping the post card over. His grin disappeared and his eyes widened when he saw the only inscription on the parchment.

_The game is on._

Suddenly fuming, Brook stood up and threw the card into the nearby fireplace. For added effect, he thrust the vase on the mantelpiece in with it. "FIND THEM!" He screamed at Irene.

…

"It doesn't look so bad, really."

"I could care less how it looks. Physical appearance and beauty standards are a societal standard that I tend not to agree with."

Sherlock nursed his bloody split lip, while Norah reached over every few seconds to dab it with a tissue. They sat together in the medical station of the training facility, clad in athletic gear.

"It is a bit uncomfortable, however."

"…I'm sorry I kicked you in the face," Norah shrugged. They had been sparring on the mat for combat training and it just sort of…happened.

"I'm not. In fact I'm glad you did. If I was an assailant you would have successfully defended yourself. Well done."

"Yeah, maybe." She placed a gentle kiss next to the wound. "But I hate to damage that handsome mug."

"As I said, the standards for appearance are-,"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

She continued to administer the tissue to the cut, while Sherlock flinched.

"Do you think everybody got their cards?" she asked. "That was a brilliant idea on Mycroft's part."

"I would imagine so. If anything, I do hope that the third one was received."

"Would it scare him? Does he get scared?"

"Oh, I like to think so. I like to think he's shaking in his designer brand boots right about now."

An advising officer knocked on the door and let himself in, causing Norah to straighten up. Sherlock didn't adjust his posture. He didn't see any need to. The officer was a tall man, with sharp features and perpetually narrowed eyes.

"Holmes the younger, a word?" he asked .

Sherlock stepped forward obediently, holding his hands behind his back. "Sir?"

"…Hm…I imagined you being taller."

He was about to roll his eyes, but stopped himself. "Yes. I get that quite often."

"I came to tell you that it would be wise to stop reading so deeply in to the personal lives of your fellow agents," he ordered.

"Oh for God sakes-,"

"Sherlock," Norah warned. He was in fact talking to a commanding officer. Sass was not permitted.

"His wife's going to divorce him! Didn't you see the stain on his tie?"

"Holmes, we've had more than one complaint."

"Ugh, Sherlock," Norah chided, wiping her forehead with her wrist. "How many people have you deduced?"

"Only fifteen or so. They were taking too long in the locker room."

"Your brother has assured me that your deductive reasoning will be useful in the field. Keep it to yourself during training, I mean it," the officer threatened, before stalking out.

Norah exhaled, vexed. "…You're impossible."

"…His wife is in fact going to divorce him."

She put a hand on her hip. "Are you ever going to stop getting yourself in trouble?"

Sherlock his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "Norah, my dear, we've only just begun getting ourselves in trouble."


	79. SEQUEL IS UP!

CHAPTER 1 OF "The Girl with the Loaded Gun" IS UP! CHECK IT OUT! :D


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